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JOSEPH 

VANCE 

By 

‘7/0 

■ ^ 1 ||l■^r- — ■— 

WILLIAM DE MORGAN 

1 1 

ATJTHOB OF 

ALICE-FOR- SHORT, IT NEVER CAN HAPPEN AGAIN, 

1 SOMEHOW GOOD, AND AN AFFAIR OF DISHONOR 

^ «a— W- ^ 

1 

) ’ 


GROSSET & 

DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS :: 

NEW YORK 


Made in the United States of America 




CopyriK^, 1006 
BT 

HliNRY HOLT AND COMPANY 


Published July, 1006 






DEDICATED TO 


HORATIO LUCAS 

IN TOKEN OF 

A VERY OLD FRIENDSHIP 
AND 

AN UNPORGOTTEN TIME 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAOB 

OF JOB VANCE’S FATBnER AND HIS UNFORTUNATE HABITS. HOW HR 
QUARRELLED WITH A SWEEP WHO COULD BUTT ; AND SUFFERED 
THEREBY. HOW JOB CONCEALED THIS CIRCUMSTANCE FROM HIS 
MOTHER 1 

CHAPTER II. 

.'STOW JOB PREVARICATED. OF PORKY OWLS AND A SPORTING CARD. 

HOW JOE WAS A WITNESS ; ALSO OP THE REV. MR. CAPSTICK AND 
OF MR. VANCE AS A CONTROVERSIALIST. HOW JOB VISITED HIS 
FATHER IN THB HOSPITAL ,15 

CHAPTER III. 

OF joe's father’s convalescence, and op HIS CONiraCTION WITH A 
BENEFIT CLUB. OP JOE’S EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, AND OF HOW A 
VERY LITTLE MAN SOLD HIS FATHER A SIGNBOARD. . . . 2S 

CHAPTER IV. 

A SHORT CHAPTER, BUT THEN IT IS THE THIN END OP A BIG WEDGB. 

FOR IT TELLS HOW MR. VANCE GOT HIS FIRST BUILDING JOB. . 30 

CHAPTER V. 

OF joe’s VERY FIRST VISIT TO POPLAR VILLA. OP ITS DRAINS AND 
THEIR STENCH. OP HOW JOE SAW HIS FIRST REAL YOUNG LADY 
AT HOME. HOW SHE KISSED JOE, AND JOE LIKED IT. OF A PEAR 
TREE THAT LIVED THENCEFORWARD IN JOE’S MEMORY. OP HIS 


RETURN HOME 36 

CHAPTER VI. 

SHOWS HOW MR. VANCE OBTAINED CAPITAL AND PLANT. ALSO HOW 

HE CREATED CONFIDENCE - 46 

chapter VII. 


CONCERNING A BARREL-DRAIN WHICH DID NOT EXIST, OP REPAIRS TO 
THE NURSERY CHIMNEY AND HOW JOE WENT UP IT. ALSO WHAT 
A GOOD WASHING HE HAD 50 


IV 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER vm 


HOW JOEY HAD MISS LOSSIB’S ARM BOUND HIM WHILE HE SAW BOOKS. 
MISS VIOLET CORRECTS HER SISTER. MISS LOSSIE’S TONGUE. 
HOW JOE WENT HOME AND HEARD FROM PORKY OP THE BEAK. 
HOW MR. VANCE HAS ANOTHER JOB, ALL DUB TO THE MAGIC 
BOARD 

CHAPTER IX. 

HOW JOEY PAID ANOTHER VISIT TO POPLAR VELLA, AND HOW HR 
SHOCKED MISS VIOLET. HOW HE WENT UP INTO THE LIBRARY 
AND SAT ON DR. THORPE’S KNEE AND DID EUCLID. HOW HE 
WEPT ABOUT MISS LOS8IE. HOW DR. T. OFFERED HIM AN EDUCA- 
TION. AND OF THE SAD COLLAPSE OP PETER GUNN, TESTE PORKY 
OWLS. 

CHAPTER X. 

ABOUT JOE NOW, AS HE WRITES, AND ABOUT SOME OLD, OLD LETTERS 
OP LOSSIE’s. SOME MORALIZING YOU MAY SKIP. HOW LOSSIE 
WENT TO THE SEASIDE. PORKY OWLS’S OBSCURANTISM — SOME- 
WHAT OP MISS violet’s grandes passions. .... 

CHAPTER XI. 

A VERY SHORT CHAPTER ABOUT HOW JOEY WENT TO MR. PENGUIN’S 
SEMINARY, OR ACADEMY. NEVERTHELESS IT TELLS HOW HE DID 
LATIN WITH LOSSIE’S ARM ROUND HIM. 

CHAPTER XII. 

MORE ABOUT PENGUIN’S. SOMEWHAT OP THE SACRED CULT OP GEN- 
TLEMAN. HOW JOE WAS PROMOTED TO A REAL PUBLIC SCHOOL, 
AND HIS IMPRESSIONS OP IT 

CHAPTER xm. 

HOW JOE RETURNED FROM ST. WTTHOLD, BUT WAS AFFLICTED BY HIS 
HAT. BUT WAS RELIEVED. MORE OP HIS FATHER’S LEAPS UP IN 
LIFE, joe’s RETICENCE 

CHAPTER XIV. 

AN UN-ACADEMICAL SUNDAY MORNING. CONCERNING HIS FATHER’S 
NEW HOUSE, joe’s WALK TO POPLAR VILLA, BUT NO MISS LOSSIE. 
HE TELLS HIS SCHOOL EXPERIENCES. ANTHROPOPHAGI. HE WILL 
FOLLOW LOSSIE, EVEN TO HAMPSTEAD. 

CHAPTER XV. 

HOW JOE WALKED AND 'BUSSED TO LOSSIE IN HAMPSTEAD. HOW A 
LITTLE GIRL TALKED TO HIM, WHO PREFERRED DROWNING TO 
HANGING. HOW LOSSIE LIT JOE’s HEART UP ; AND OP THE 
SPENCER MENAGE. LOSSIE MAKES JOE TROT ST. WITHOLD OUT 
AT THE FIRS ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH. HOW GLAD JOE WAS HE 
HAD TOLD NO MORE ABOUT HIS SCHOOL NIGHTMARE. 


PA«B 


55 


63 


70 


89 


91 


100 


105 


111 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XVI. 

job's father’s hat again, and how his mother died, a let- 
ter OP LOSSIB WRITTEN A YEAR AFTER. OF HIS FATHER’S QRIEP 
AND HIS OWN. THE STORY OP HIS FATHER’S COURTSHIP TOLD TO 
JOB — OF THE PURE CAIRN MAGORRACHAN MOUNTAIN DEW, AND 
HOW JOE LAY AWAKE BECAUSE OP THE SAME 

CHAPTER XVII. 

AN INEXCUSABLY LONG LETTER OP MISS LOSSIE’S — IT TELLS HOW SHE 
ADVOCATED THE CAUSE OP TEMPERANCE MORE SUCCESSFULLY 
THAN POOR MR. CAPSTICK, WHOSE INTENTIONS WERE GOOD, BUT 
WHO WAS LACKING IN TACT. AND OP HOW MR. VANCE POURED 
THE CAIRN MAGORRACHAN MOUNTAIN DEW ON THE PARLOUR 
FIRE 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A TALE OP joe’s PUGNACITY AT SCHOOL. OP HIS FATHER’S ABSTINENCE. 
MUCH ABOUT HIS NAMESAKE JOEY, WHICH WE WOULD OMIT IP WE 
COULD DO WITHOUT IT. OP THE RAPIDITY OF HIS FATHER’S RISE. 
OP HOW HE SAW NOLLY, BUT THE OTHER DAY, AND COULD NOT 
SPEAK WITH HIM. OP HOW LOSSIE IS STILL LIVING, IN ITALY. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

HOW DR. THORPE VISITED JOE AT OXFORD, AND HOW THAT VISIT 
ENDED THE FIRST MOVEMENT OP JOE’s LIFE ON A DISCORD. OP 
HIS PAINFUL DOUBLE IDENTITY 

CHAPTER XX. 

LETTERS OF LOSSIE, VERY IMPORTANT. GENERAL DESPREZ. HOW 
SHE TOLD ABOUT JOE — HOW THE GENERAL WANTED TO MARRY 
LOSSIE — FULL DETAILS OP ALL HE SAID, BUT NO STAGE DIREC- 
TIONS. HOW joe’s TRAGEDY BURST SUDDENLY ON LOSSIE, AND 
KTfT?. ORDERED THE GENERAL TO THE RESCUE. .... 

CHAPTER XXI. 

HOW JOE AND ms SELF LIVED IN GLOOM AT OXFORD AND WOULD 
NOT GO TO LONDON. HOW GENERAL DESPREZ CAME FOR THEM 
AND JOE KEPT ITI8 SELF IN CHECK. HOW LOSSIE MET THEM ALL 
AT PADDINGTON 

CHAPTER XXII. 

LOSSIE’S FAREWELL INJUNCTIONS TO JOE. HIS NAMESAKE IS NOT A 
SOURCE OF SATISFACTION. A JOLLY WEDDING, AND THE CROAK- 
ING AFTER. LOSSIE’S SEND-OFF. POOR JOE I . . . . 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

HOW CHRISTOPHER VANCE & CO.’s MR. MACFARREN GAVE NO SATISFAC- 
TION. AND HOW A SUBSTITUTE WAS FOUND FOR HIM. TO DR. 
THORPE FOR CONSOLATION. OP AN EMPTY WHISKEY BOTTLE. 


▼ 

PAe« 

128 

141 

151 

151 

173 

1 ^ 

193 

199 


« 


▼i CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XXrV. 

•job’s duplex gear discomforts him. justice to PINDAR. HOW 

JOE WENT TO LYNMOUTH WITH A READING PARTY, AND INVITED 
MASTER JOSEPH THORPE. THE LATTER GOES UNDER A SEA-ROCK. 
JOE AFTER HIM. HOW A LIFE WAS SAVED FOB ONE WHO COULD 
NOT USE IT FOR GOOD 


CHAPTER XXV. 

HOW JOE WOULD HAVE TAKEN A BETTER DEGREE BUT FOR CHESS. 
HOW HE PATENTED HIS SPHERICAL ENGINE. HIS DIFFICULTIES 
WITH THE BRITISH ENGINEER. OF HOW HE IS CHEATED AND HIS 
FATHER COMES TO THE RESCUE 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE FERRET IS BIBULOUS. HOW JOE WENT TO PLAY CROQUET WITH 
HIS DAUGHTER. OP HER GLORIOUS BEAUTY AND ITS EFFECT 
ON ONE OP joe's INDIVIDUALITIES. HE TALKS TO A FLAT 
JANE. OF A GUST OP ABBOT ANSELM, AND JOE’S MEETING WITH 
AN OLD FOE, WHO IS FIANCE TO THE FERRET’S DAUGHTER. JANE 
IS SOMEBODY TOO. HE GOES HOME LINKED WITH HIS FOE. . 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

HOW joe’s father had BEEN MATCHMAKING, AND HOW HE EXCEEDED 
HIS ALLOWANCE. HOW GOOD A DAUGHTER-IN-LAW WOULD BE 
FOR HIM. JOE IS NOT IN LOVE WITH THE FLAT JANE. HOW HE 
WROTE WHO SHE WAS TO LOSSIE ; A FOOLISH I.ETTER. OP THE 
SPHERICAL ENGINE. HOW HE MET FLAT JANE AGAIN AT THE 
ferret’s. AND GOT DANGEROUSLY CONFIDENTIAL. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

JOE HEARS PROM PLAT JANE. HOW HIS FATHER SMELT A RAT. HOW 
JOE SPENT AN EVENING AT FLAT JANE’s FATHER’S, AND TOOK A 
BOOK TO HER LATER. OF THE OLD LIBRARY. JANE GETS AT JOE. 
BUT SHE IS VERY NICE. SHE CLEARS JOE’s MIND UP GREATLY. 
JOE IS A FOOL — WHY NOT BE FRIENDS ? HE TALKS WITH DR. 
THORPE, WHO RATHER LOVES JANE BY REPORT. JOE PERHAPS 
I.OVES HER TOO, AND IS A FOOL AGAIN. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 


HOW TWO FIANCES READ MRS. LUCILLA DESPREZ’S ANSWER TO JOE’S 
LETTER. OF PERTURBATION THEREAT. OP HOW JOE’S FATHER 
FOUND AND READ IT TOO. HE WILL NOT BE AN ENCUMBRANCE. 
OF ANOTHER LETTER FROM .JANE. JOE IS BROKEN QUITE OFF. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

JOB COULD BEAR TO LOBE JANEY. OP THE SPHERICAL ENGINE AND 
HIS NEW PROVISIONAL. AND PRING. HOW JOE’S FATHER WILL 
BUILD HIM AN ENGINEERING WORKSHOP. THE MACALLISTBR 


PAOB 


205 


211 


217 


226 


238 


240 


CONTENTS 


• • 

Vll 


REPEATER, AND JOE’s PARTNERSHIP WITH BONY. MRS. BONY’B 
BABY. MR. BONY ON ENGAGEMENTS, AND HOW HE DID IT. OP A 
CONFESSION OP PHEENER’s. AND HOW OLD VANCE GOT VERY 
DRUNK. EHEU 1 JOE GOES TO SEEK SOLACE FROM DR. THORPE. 258 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

BUT DR. THORPE WAS IN TROUBLE HIMSELF, FOR THAT BEPPINO IS 
IN DISGRACE. NOLLY’S OPINION ABOUT BEPPINO’s FRIENDS. HOW 
BEPPINO WAS THRASHED. A PASSIONATE ADMIRATION. BEP 
REALLY VAIN OP IT. HOW JOE WAS UNFEELING TO HIM. HOW 
PHEENER TOOK AWAY THE BOTTLE 270 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

HOW JOE MET JANEY AGAIN. HE IS LEFT ALONE WITH HER AND 
FEELS QUEER. HOW HE WILL WRITE IT ALL TO LOSSIE. MATCH- 
MAKING JE ANNIE. THEY ARE ALONE SOME MORE. A RAPPROCHE- 
MENT ON BONY-JEANNIE LINES. HOW JOE’S WALK HOME WAS 

happy 286 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

BUT HE didn't WRITE THE LETTER TO LOSSIE. MR. VANCE’S DISGUST 
AT THE RECRUDESCENCE OP THE WIDOW. HOW HE TOLD DR. 
THORPE, AND THERE WAS SOMETHING AFTER ALL ! BUT JEANNIB 
WILL PROVIDE FOR NOLLY. JOE’S WANT OP LITERARY SKILL 
JERKS HIS TALE OUT OP GEAR 296 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

AND, AFTER ALL, LOSSIE’S LETTER PASSED HER IN MID-OCEAN ! OP 
HOW JOE AND JANEY READ HIS FATHER’S LETTER AT POPLAR 
VILLA, AND HOW LOSSIE CAME UNEXPECTEDLY ON TWO HAPPY 
LOVERS IN THE TWILIGHT. IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE EI.DE8T 
MISS FLOWERDEW ! DR. THORPE JOINS THEM ; BUT HOW ABOUT 
HIS HEART? HOW JOE AND JANEY WERE MARRIED. BUT NO ONE 
CAN PLAY JANEY’S PIANO NOW 306 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

OF THE NEW FACTORY IN CHELSEA. OP THE BACKSLIDING OP OLD 
MR. VANCE. HOW JOE DREAMED A STRANGE DREAM, AND ITS 
INTERRUPTION. OP THE GREAT FIRE, AND HOW MR. VANCE WAS 
RESCUED. BUT SPRAINED. SO FAR AS CAN BE ASCERTAINED, 
FULLY COVERED BY INSURANCE. AN OLD BURNED BOARD, WITH 
WRITING ON IT 317 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

OF A BRAIN-WAVE THAT WENT TO INDIA. AND OP AN OPTICAL DE- 
LUSION. HOW JOE TOOK THE NEWS TO DR. THORPE, AND BEP- 
PINO WAS A BORE. AUNT IZZY TOO DEAF FOR ANYTHING. DR. 
THORPE AND JOB WALK TO CHELSEA. 


335 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 


« »• 
VUl 


PAOS 

A OOirPBRENCE AND A GROWING ALARM. HOW THE WHISKEY-BOTTLE 
HAD CAUSE TO CHUCKLE. THE CHEQUE BOOKS DID IT, OP COURSE 
— WANTED THIRTY-THOUSAND POUNDS. ALSO HOW A BANK 
SMASHED — AND HOW A BIG BAD DEBTOR OWED A BIG BAD DEBT. 
CHRISTOPHER VANCE & CO. INSOLVENT 344 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

JOE'S FATHER DOES NOT IMPROVE MUCH. BUT HE IS HIS OLD SELF 
STILL, AND ENJOYS A SURPRISE HE HAS TREASURED FOR HIS 
FAMILY. HOW HE HAD BOUGHT A TRINKET IN BOND STREET. 

THE NEW LIMITED CO. IT STARTS ILL ; BUT GOOD FORTUNB 
BRINGS BACK AN OLD BOARD TO HELP THE BOARD OP DIRECTORS. 353 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

joe's father SLIPS DOWNHILL. PETER GUNN CROPS UP. AND AT 
LAST OLD VANCE KNOWS THE STORY OP THE BOTTLE-END. HE 
REACHES THE BOTTOM OP THE HILL, AND GOES ELSEWHERE. 

BUT THE BOARD IS STRONG AND PHEENER IS DESERVEDLY RICH, 

AND ALL IS WELL. SO JOE HAS TIME FOR REMINISCENCE, AND 
REMEMBERS HOW HE MET PORKY OWLS AGAIN, AND DIDN'T KNOW 
HIM. 360 

CHAPTER XL. 

THIS CHAPTER IS REALLY ALL DEVOTED TO DR. THORPE’S OPINIONS, 
ALTHOUGH IT PRETENDS NOT AT THE BEGINNING. BETTER SIOP 
THEM. A QUOTATION FROM TENNYSON. JANET AND JOE MAKE 


EACH A PROMISE TO THE OTHER. 367 

CHAPTER XLI. 

A CHAPTER THAT HAD TO BE WRITTEN. 383 

CHAPTER XLIL 


JOB IS A WIDOWER. A TENANTLESS OLD HOUSE. HOW HE WENT TO 
DR. THORPE ; AND OP A CHILD THAT WAS SAVED ON THE WRECK. 

THE SYMPATHY OP BEPPINO. A GOOD IDEA I WHY NOT TAKE 
BEPPINO TO ITALY? 8JK) 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

HOW JANEY'S PIANO WAS TO BE KEPT IN TUNE. FRAU SCHMIDT. 

THE WALDSTEIN SONATA. THE FRAU MISLEADS BEPPINO. WHO 
MISS SIBYL FULLER PERCEVAL WAS. THE GOLDEN BEAD IN THE 
HUMAN CRUCIBLE. THE KINCARDINESHIRE JOINT-STOCK BANE. 

HOW ABOUT THE DOCTOR’S HEART 408 


CONTENTS il . 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

. PAW 

SOSPPmO AS A MARINER. PARIS AT PARIS. THE JOURNEY TO ITAJLT. 
IDOMENEO PELLEGRINI. BUT NO JANET NOW. BEPPINO CARRIES 
OPP joe’s trunk to FLORENCE ; WHEREOF THE ENGRAVED NAME 
CAUSES MUCH APPREHENSION 416 

CHAPTER XLV. 

joe’s return HOME. MR. SPENCER AND COMTE. HIS BAD NEWS 
ABOUT DR. Thorpe’s affairs, a forgotten trust fund, the 
DOCTOR bankrupt. LOSSIE’S RETURN FROM INDIA. . . 428 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

LOSSIE — SHE HAS NO PATIENCE WITH DR. THORPE’S VICTIM. BEPPINO 
AND MISS FULLER PERCEVAL. A MYSTERIOUS LETTER FROM 
FLORENCE. BEPPINO’S EXPLANATIONS. THE CENOTAPH IN 
PORTUGAL. JOE CARRIES THE TURK PAST THE DOCTOR’S LI- 
BRARY DOOR. O GRAVE ! WHERE IS THY VICTORY? , , 431 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

joe’s absence FROM BEPPINO’S WEDDING. VULGARITY, BANALITY. 
ANOTHER LETTER PROM FLORENCE. JEANNIE DETECTS A PAINT 
SMELL OP A DEVIL. BUT BEPPINO GETS HIS LETTER. . . 441 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

BBPPINO’S ILLNESS. LOS8IE STARTS FOR AVIGNOi/. A DISTINGUISHED 
author’s funeral. JOE MEETS NEWS OF YET ANOTHER DEATH 
ON HIS RETURN TO CHELSEA. HE HAS THROWN AWAY GOOD 
GRIEF ON BEPPINO. WHY DID BEPPINO WANT HIS CHILD CALLED 
CRI8TOFORO ? 448 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

JOB SUBSIDIZES CRISTOFORO. HOW HE TOOK GENERAL DESPREZ 
INTO HIS CONFIDENCE. THE BRAZILIAN SCHEME. ANOTHER 
FLORENTINE LETTER. HOW JOE RESOLVED TO GO OUT AND BEE 
THAT CRISTOFORO WAS PROPERLY NOURISHED 4J58 

CHAPTER L. 

JOB GOES TO PIESOLE. AND HEARS ALL ABOUT BEPPTNO’S WILD OAT. 

HE GETS HIS LETTERS, AND ADOPTS HIS BABY. HIS MIXED TALE 


TO LOSSIE. HE IS WALKING ON A TIGHT-ROPE, BUT FOR LOS- V, 

eie’s sake .... . 4« ^ 

CHAPTER LI. 


A LETTER FROM A MAN OP THE WORLD. THE GENERAL’S SATCHEL. 

JOB ARRANGES FOR HIS START TO BRAZIL. BUT HE GOES TO SEP 
CRISTOFORO AGAIN FIRST. HOW HE TOOK A WALK AT PIEBOLB, 
WITHOUT JANEY. AND HOW HE HEARD THE WALDBTEIN SONATA 
ON THE TUSCAN HILLS. HOW CRISTOFORO TICKLED. . . 478 


X 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER LII 


PAOB 

HERB PPLEIDERBB DISAPPROVES OP BRAZIL. HOW JOE, TEARS 
AFTER, WENT TO LOOK FOR POPLAR VILLA, AND GRASS THEN 
GREW WHERE TROY TOWN STOOD. HOW BEPPINO'S SECOND SON 
(OR THEREABOUTS) WAS BORN. THE NEED OP BROWNING. OP 
A VILLA FOR LOSSIE AT SORRENTO, NOT FLORENCE. HOW THE 
GENERAL NEVER UNDERSTOOD THE DOCTOR, MORE’s THE PITY ! 
joe's last happy evening in ENGLAND. HOW HE CALLED ON 
AUNT IZZY. AND OP MR. SPENCER. NOLLY BEES JOB OFF AT 
EUSTON. THE SEA, ONCE MORE ! 481 

CHAPTER LIII. 

WHAT JOE HAS BEEN DRIVING AT. HE HAS CRISTOFORO OUT TO HIM 
IN BRAZIL. HOW THE GENERAL DEED LIKE A HERO AT MAIWAND. 
LOSSIE GOES TO FLORENCE. A PLEASANT LETTER FROM HER AT 
VILLA MAGONCINI. ANOTHER, WITH A PLEASANT POSTSCRIPT. 

JOE TAKES A RIDE AND SHOOTS A HALF-BREED. ACCIDENT TO 
CRISTOFORO. joe’s ANSWER TO THE LETTER. MORE CORRE- 
SPONDENCE, TERRIBLE TO JOE. ALL IS ENDED. “THIS IS FOR 
LOSSIE.” 492 

CHAPTER LIV. 

THE TALE IS TOLD. A PEW RECOLLECTIONS OP FOLK SEEN IN LON- 
DON. OP NOLLY, OF HICKMAN, OP PRINO, OP LADY TOWER- 
STAIRS. AND OP POOR OLD CAPSTICK, IN A MADHOUSE 1 WHEN 
HE HAS LOOKED THROUGH THE LETTERS AGAIN, HE WILL BURN 
THE WHOLE LOT ; BUT — ! A LONG LETTER OP LOSSIE’B TO 
SARITA^SPENCER. FINIS 508 


JOSEPH VANCE 



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JOSEPH VANCE 


CHAPTER I 

OF JOE VANCE’s father AND HIS UNFORTUNATE HABITS. HOW HE 
QUARRELLED WITH A SWEEP WHO COULD BUTT; AND SUFFERED 
THEREBY. HOW JOE CONCEALED THIS CIRCUMSTANCE FROM HIS 
MOTHER. 

My Father and Mother never could come to a clear understand- 
ing about what had disagreed with my Father the day he lost his 
situation at Fothergiirs. 

My Father thought it was the sausage and mashed potatoes he 
had for lunch at the Rose and Crown, at fourpence, and as much 
mustard and pepper as you liked. My Mother thought it was the 
beer. 

There was something to be said for my Mother’s view, on the 
score of quantity. 

“Everything,” she said, “I bring to figures, and my Aunt 
Elizabeth Hannah taught me to it.” And sure enough figures did 
show that my Father, who had a shilling and threepence in his 
pocket when he left home at six-thirty in the morning, must have 
spent eightpence on beer, or lost some of it. — Because, if we allow 
a penny for the ’bus, and twopence for a ’arf an ounce of barker 
which he bought (I do not like to give his exact words) at a 
tobacconist’s with a haemorrhage on his way home, there’s the 
price of two quarts of four ale left, put it how you may. — “ And 
your Father always had a weak head,” said my Mother in after 
years, in the many times over she told me the story. 

Anyhow, something must have disagreed with him, or he 
wouldn’t have called Mr. Wotherspoon, the head clerk at Fother- 
gill’s, an old herring-gut when he told him to put his trolley some- 
where else, and not leave it stood in the orfice door. 

“ Of course it wasn’t a civil remark, in the manner of speak- 
ing,” said my Mother, “but your Father, my dear, was that sim- 
ple and honourable himself he never had a suspicion of guile. — 
And well did Mr. Wotherspoon deserve the epithet if my belief 


JOSEPH VANCE 


is true (and I shall hold it to my dying day) that the old man 
only similated deafness all those years to one day catch your 
Father out. For I need ’ardly say to you, my dear, that the re- 
mark was a outside remark, as the sayin’ is, and not intended to 
reach its audience.” 

If my recollection of my Father’s conversation isn’t coloured 
by subsequent experience of hoarse men in taprooms, resembling 
his personal friends at this date in their accent and the bias of 
their philosophy, Mr. Wotherspoon must have taken a good deal 
of unnecessary trouble to procure a conviction. Indeed, I re- 
member my Mother saying once that the strength of language 
was proverbial, and that Vance was no exception to the rule, and 
not to be expected. My Mother’s way of putting things may 
have been inconsequent, but then, one never had the slightest 
doubt of what she meant. 

Anyhow, my Father’s outside remarks frequently reached their 
audience, and laid him open to martyrdom in the cause of free 
speech many times before the incident recorded — my Mother’s 
version of which was probably authentic; although she must have 
had some of it on hearsay. 

I decline to repeat his language,” said Mr. Wotherspoon to 
Mr. Fothergill, ‘^but it was not respectful, and I should say he 
deserved the sack.” 

Give him his screw and put on another warehouseman,” said 
Mr. Fothergill. So my Father had to accept the sack on the 
Saturday following. 

I was a small boy of seven at this time, but I must have been 
observant, from the vividness of my recollection of the events of 
that Saturday afternoon. My young mind, catching its impres- 
sions from my Mother’s way of looking at the situation, and 
supported by the cheerfulness (which may have been partly artifi- 
cial) with which my Father accepted the sack, drew the inference 
that my Father had dismissed Fothergill’s, and was now open to 
all kinds of preferment which his late employers’ malice had 
hitherto prevented reaching him. This coloured our conversation 
as we walked along the main road towards London after the family 
dinner. I accompanied him on the pretext that I was competent 
and willing to prevent his taking more than a pint at the Roe- 
buck. 

“Could you lick three men?” I said, breaking silence dis- 
connectedly. 

“ Could I lick free men ? ” repeated my Father after me. “ In 
course I could I Who’s to prevent me, young ’un, hay ? ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


3 


I was silent and counted sixteen paving stones before I returned 
to the charge. I couldn^t count seventeen as it was a sudden 
introduction of a new metre, so to speak, into the counting. So 
I resumed my enquiries. 

Could you lick three men if two of ’em was policemen ? ” 

That’s accordin’ to who the other might be,” said my Father 
after reflection, which convinced my simplicity that he was re- 
plying in good faith. 

“ Could you lick three men if one of them was Mr. Fothergill 
and two of ’em was p’licemen?” This was a home-thrust, and 
my Father’s" prompt counter-stroke showed that he appreciated 
the connection with the recent conversation at dinner. 

‘^If one of ’em was Mr. Fothergill I could lick six, and if 
two of ’em was Mr. Fothergill and Mr. Wotherspoon I could lick 
twelve.” 

I accepted this as meaning that the intense insignificance of 
the two would act as a drawback on the effectiveness of the police 
force; and I believe now that my Father intended this, and did 
not refer to any stimulus to his prowess which the sight of 
his recent employers might occasion. But I felt explanation 
was necessary, and sought for it in my Father’s remarks at 
dinner. 

Is that because you expected a beggar to be an angel ? ” was 
my next question. For my Father had stopped my Mother in 
some too lenient view of Mr. Wotherspoon’s conduct with ‘‘ An 
old herring-gut like that has no call to expect a poor beggar to 
be a angel,” and this had been a little beyond my comprehension. 

What’s the young nipper a-driving at ? ” said my parent. “ I 
tell you what, young man, if young beginners are going to ask 
questions as if they was blooming grandmothers, we shall never 
get to this here public house.” 

“This one ain’t the Roebuck,” said I, as my Father pushed 
me through a swing door into a sound of bad men and a smell 
of worse beer. 

“ No, it ain’t, and I ain’t a-going to it. If I goes to the Roe- 
buck I ain’t at liberty, accordin’ to my ideas of honour, to take 
more than a pint. I want p’r’aps a pint and a ’arf, and I comes 
in here. — Quart o’ four ale. Miss ! ” 

The equivocation did not seem wrong to my infant mind; in 
fact, it impressed me as doing my Father credit, and made me 
resolve to try to be equally honourable. But the ordering of the 
quart brought a doubt into my face, to which my Father yielded 
an explanation. 


4 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“^Arf a pint for the young nipper, and three ’arf -pints for 
daddy — thaPs the Arithmetic! What the nipper don’t drink of 
his ’arf-pint, I drinks for his sake — so he mayn’t get drunk, 
which at seven is vice.” 

N The nipper didn’t drink much of the half -pint, fortunately for 
him, and his Father performed the act of altruism imposed on 
him. Having done so, his attention appeared to be attracted by 
something inside the pewter. 

Strike me blind,” said he, if there ain’t a bloody little hin- 
seck at the bottom of the pot I ” * 

There was, apparently, and he fell out with a heeltap of beer 
on the metal counter, out of my sight. 

‘‘Pick me up. Daddy,” said I. “For to see the hinseck,” I 
added by way of explanation. I can remember now exactly how 
my Father’s hand felt as he gi'asped me by the trousers and lifted 
me up, and the sound of his question. “ What do young sucking 
bantams want with insects ? ” 

“He’ll be for crockin’ him,” said a Sweep with inflamed eye- 
lids. “ Crock him, yoong ’un, with your finger nail.” 

But my Father, who was getting towards the quarrelsome stage 
of beer, interposed upon the suggestion, not from any human- 
itarian motives, but in order to contradict the Sweep. 

“This here hinseck,” he said, “come out of my beer, wot I 
paid for, square. Consequent this here hinseck I account as 
my hinseck — and this here son of mine has been too well educated, 
though young, to presoom to crock this here hinseck unless I give 
leave. — Hay, young ’un? Or for that matter,” added my parent 
with a sudden aggressive enlargement of his claim — “any one 
else.” 

“Any one else, wot?” said the Sweep. 

My Father, instead of answering, addressed himself over the 
bar to the young lady thereof, as an umpire secure from intimida- 
tion behind a fortress of brass and pewter. 

“I ask you. Miss,” said he, “have I said or have I not said 
clear and plain, that I regard this here hinseck as belonging? 
And have I said or have I not said, equally clear and plain, that 
if any man (or for that matter any other) was to presoom to crock 
this hinseck on this here counter, I would fetch him a smack 
over the mouth ? ” 

The young woman was filling one pot alternately at two taps 
and had taken too little from tap number one. So she had to 

* I am sorry my father made use of this offensive adjective *3 but as he did so, 
and I distinctly recollect it, I feel bound to record ii 


JOSEPH VANCE 


5 


exercise great discretion in stopping tap number two at the right 
moment. When she had done this, she referred again to number 
one, and it being an easy task to merely fill up to the brim, she 
took the opportunity to reply to my Father. 

“ Can’t say I heard any such expression. Fourpence,” the last 
word referring to the transaction in hand. 

Anyhow you put it,” said the Sweep, “ I’d crock him myself 
for a farden.” 

And without waiting for any security of payment, he did it 
straightway, over my shoulder. 

I glanced around to see the effect of the smack. It had fol- 
lowed the provocation so quickly that the Sweep’s hand was not 
back in time to stop it. 

All outside. Nothing in here. Nor yet in the street.” 
Thus far the lady of the beer-handles — I was close to her; so I 
heard her voice above the tumult of awakened partisanship 
which filled the bar the moment after the smack. I heard that, 
and I noted with some disappointment that the smack had noi 
been over the Sweep’s mouth. It was the first time I had ever 
had a doubt of my Father’s infallibility. 

“ Right you are. Miss.” — Git ’em outside.” — Git ’em round 
the Rents and down the lane.” — “ Git ’em round the bark o’ Chep- 
stow’s, and across.” — “ Git ’em along the Gas-gardens — ^land to 
let on building lease — that ’ll do, shove along — ^land to let on 
building lease. If a copper don’t spot you, you’ll ’ave it quiet 
enough for ’arf an hour. Git your man out; we’ll git ours.”, 

“ Don’t let the child go after them,” said the bar lady. — But the 
child had slipped down off the bar, and the only person left to 
stop him was too drunk to take instructions — ^had he npt been 
so, he would have been sober enough to follow the rabble. The 
child was outside the swing door just in time to see the tail of 
the crowd turn a corner and disappear. But he could have fol- 
lowed even guided only by the scattered pursuing units that 
came from far behind him, endowed with a mysterious knowledge 
(acquired Heaven knows how) that there was a fight, and that it 
would be to be found (if not too late) acrost the Gas-gardens on 
some land with a board up — and that you were on no account to 
turn round by the eel shop, but follow on. This came hoarsely 
from one swift of foot as he passed a man with a wooden leg, 
who said sadly, T’other side Chepstow’s. It ’ll be done afore I 
ever gets there.” He added that he was by nature unfortunate, 
and was always a-missing of everything. 

“ So I just gives in, I does,” said he, What’s the young 


6 JOSEPH VANCE 

beggar roaring * about ? moy Father! — IPs moy Father!^ 

What's your Father?” 

IPs his Father what^s a-goin^ to fight,” struck in another 
runner, speaking rapidly. ^‘He’s a-goin^ for to fight Mr. Gunn, 
the buttin^ Sweep, down the Rents and beyont the Piannerforty 
works, and you better look sharp if you want for to see anythink.” 

How on earth these particulars had been acquired I cannot 
imagine, but they revived the failing energies of the wooden leg 
in a miraculous way. The owner forgot my howls in his intensi- 
fied interest, and resolving to try it on anyhow,” stumped away. 

I followed on as fast as my small legs would carry me, but 
concealing my despair — for a laundress had shown a disposition 
towards commiseration and I didn’t want to be stopped by benevo- 
lence or any other motive. The stragglers got fewer and farther 
between till they were revived by the new event of a police-con- 
stable, to whom particulars appeared to be needless, as he merely 
said, “Shut up, all on yer!” in reply to volunteered information. 
This last group vanished round a corner, and I panted after it. 
But I was getting frightened of what I might see when I arrived. 
I believe that had my Father really “landed” on the Sweep’s 
mouth I should have gone on confident. But my faith had been 
shaken, and I went slower, wiping my eyes and recovering my 
breath. 

I saw nothing of the fight. I was only in time to see, across 
the canal as I stood near the wooden foot-bridge, a returning 
crowd and a group it left behind. The crowd was returning as 
a cortege of certain Policemen, who had come mysteriously from 
the four quarters of heaven, and were conducting a black object, 
which I could see from the raised platform of the bridge was the 
Sweep who had crocked the insect. I looked for my Father in 
vain. Then my eyes went across to the group across the water, 
and in the middle of it distinguished a motionless figure on the 
ground, and I knew it was my Father. 

I had before me a plain issue of Duty, to be done or left un- 
done; and I should be glad to think that in after life I had always 
shown the resolution that I, a midget between seven and eight, 
showed on this occasion. I never hesitated a moment. The 
Sweep had killed my Father, and I could hear his bellowings of 
triumph as he came along, the centre of an admiring audience 
conducted by two Policemen. I cannot repeat them in full, but 
they recorded his conviction that the method he had employed (I 
heard what it was later) was the correct way to do the dags of 
fluch a one as his late opponent. The terms he applied to him 


JOSEPH VANCE 


1 

could only be reported if it were certain that their meaning to 
my readers would be as obscure as they then were to me. They 
did not seem to me to make the fact that he had killed my Father 
(as I thought) any the worse. All that was left was to look for 
a missile. I saw one with a fragment of Bass’s Bitter” label 
left on it, lying against a dead cat by the pathway, a horrible 
jagged piece of glass. And in the middle of my recollection of 
that unwholesome dream, I see that jagged piece of glass and 
that cat’s head, and the string tight round his throat that had 
strangled it, as clear as I saw it then. There was a round side to it 
to hold it by, so I was able to close my hand well on it. On came 
the Sweep and the Policemen’s hats (they wore hats in those days), 
and the admiring throng. On they came to the bridge, and the 
* tramp on the mud changed resonantly to tramp on the planks. 

“ I could larn you two bloody orficers a lesson sim’lar to that 
other ... if I chose to, but ” 

But no one ever knew the reason of Mr. Gunn’s forbearance; for 
his last word merged into a hideous yell as the jagged bottle-end 
pierced his eye. It was by the merest chance that I hit him. Of 
course I had aimed, but what is the aim of a child of seven? 
Anyhow, it went to the right place — and the howls and curses of 
its human target bore witness to its arrival. 

I had been concealed behind a scrap of fence at the bridge end 
when I made my shot. But so had two other boys — ^barefooted 
street Arabs of the sort the Board-Schools have cleared away. 
And these boys seeing instantly that my crime would be ascribed 
to them as universal culprits, scapegoats of humanity, exclaimed 
to each other in the same breath, “Make yer ’ooks. Matey!” — 
and bolted one to the left and one to the right, but keeping within 
whistling and yelling distance. An amiable young Policeman fol- 
lowed at a walk, on a line of pursuit bisecting the angle of the 
two lines of flight. He caught neither of the fugitives of course, 
but he rejoined the procession at the nearest doctor’s shop, having 
slipped round by another road to avoid humiliation; and Mr. 
Gunn was taken in for provisional treatment at the expense of the 
authorities. 

I was convinced my Father was killed, and too terrified to wait 
and see the second procession that I knew must cross the bridge 
later on; besides, there was Mother! So I left the crowd gazing 
blankly at two bottles of “show colour,” and one leech, in the 
shop window; and set out for home, too heart-broken and scared 
even to feel the satisfaction of revenge. 

Halfway I met two Policemen bearing a stretcher. I knew 


8 


JOSEPH \ANCE 


what was coming back on that stretcher. I had no need of the 
information volunteered by another boy, rather older than I. 

Don’t you know what that is, you little hass ? ” said he, seeing 
my gaze fixed on it. That there’s the stretcher fur to put the 
beggar on what’s dead. Straight out flat! Then he’ll have a 
funeral, he will — corpses, ’earses, plooms, mutes ! ” — And he began 
a sort of pantomime of solemn obsequies; but as perhaps he 
felt the cast was insufficient, gave it up and danced. 

The whole thing was getting more and more of a nightmare, 
and I was consciously becoming incapable of finding my way 
home. I began calling aloud for my Father to come and help me, 
even while I knew what had happened, and that he could not. 
Then I heard a stumping on the pavement behind me, and recog- 
nized it as the wooden leg of an hour ago. I felt that its owner 
was almost an old friend, especially when he too recognized me. 

‘‘Who’s this here little chap a-hollering for his Father? He’s 
number two, this is. — ^No — he ain’t, — by gum! It’s the very same 
over again,” and then his voice changed as he added : “ Look here, 
old man. I’ll give you a lift. Wipe your eyes. Where do you 
want to go to ? ” 

“ Stallwood’s Cottages, No. 13. It’s the only house, please, that 
hasn’t no name on the door, and it’s next door to the laundry.” 

“There ain’t no such place,” struck in the boy who had called 
me a little ass, and who I really believe was a fiend in human 
form. “Don’t you believe him. He’s a-kidding of yer.” 

But the wooden-legged man seemed to be endowed with insight 
into character; for, merely remarking that he would half mur- 
der the speaker if he ever laid hands upon him, he swung me on 
his shoulder and stumped on. The fiend, however, having ac- 
quired a sort of footing in the affair, didn’t mean to be left behind, 
and pursued us as close as he dared. 

“’Arf murder me if yer like — 7 give leave! You may ’ole 
murder me too if yer like, if yer ever find such a s’elp-me-Goard 
place ” 

And more to the same effect. But even the attempt to throw 
the statement into the form of an affidavit did not influence the 
wooden leg, which went steadily on, growing less and less per- 
ceptible to my failing senses, until at last it became a mere 
rhythmic accompaniment to a dream that I forgot as I woke to 
find myself deposited on the pavement, and the voice of my bearer 
saying: “Eight you are, old chap! No name on the door, and 
next door to the laundry. You git along in sharp and go to 
feed,” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


9 


And then in answer to my unspoken question (for the words 
wouldn’t come), he added: ^^Never you fret your kidneys about 
your Father! He ain’t dead! Trust him! — he’ll live to be con- 
cerned in many quarts yet. Good-bye!” 

And he whistled “ Lucy Neal and stumped off. 

I did not share his confidence about my Father, but he had 
cheered me up. Had he been altogether fallible, he would have 
fallen a victim to the misstatements of the funeral boy. And 
him he had simply flouted ! So I collected my courage, and 
jumped up to the bell-handle, — which was a pull-down one, or I 
couldn’t have rung it, — I heard voices inside, and my Mother 
came to the door. 

“Bless my soul, it’s Joe without his Father again! Joseph, 
you let your Father go to the Eoebuck! Where is he now?” 

I was far more afraid of telling the awful truth to my Mother 
than I had been of anything else on that dreadful afternoon, so 
I resolved to give details later on. I had just enough voice in 
me for my Mother, stooping down to my level, to hear me ex- 
onerate the Roebuck, which I could do truthfully. 

“ Then if your Father didn’t go to the Roebuck what for are 
you crying? Where did you leave him?” 

I affirmed, truthfully, that I saw him last a-going away with 
several men towards the canal. I added, untruthfully, that I 
had losted my way, and the boys told me wrong. I thought my 
Mother was going to slap me. It would have made my mind 
happier if she had. But she only said, “Dearie me, whoever 
would be a woman! You come along and get to bed and go to 
sleep at once, and no nonsense.” I was very soon wiping my 
eyes on a small dirty nightshirt, and contributing an occasional 
sob to the conversation that went on in the next room. I had 
declined supper, not so much because I did not want it, as to get 
out of sight and cry in the dark. I should now wonder more at 
myself for this, if I had not behaved in the same way fifty times 
since; indeed, the sorrow’s crown of sorrows has always been to 
me not what the poet sings, but the communication of bad news 
to happy unsuspicion. I always feel as I then felt; as if it was 
my fault and I was responsible! 

“What’s the matter with the child?” — Thus the conversation 
ran on between my Mother and her neighbour, Mrs. Packles, 
from Packleses laundry next door, who had come in to tea and 
gossip. 

“ It’s to be hoped nothing’s the matter ser’ous, Mrs. Vance.” 

“Law, Mrs. Packles, Ma’am,” said my Mother, “if I was to 


10 


JOSEPH VANCE 


worrit every time Vance comes home late, there’d never be an end. 
Your petticoat is a-scorching.’’ 

‘^It ain^t my best. If you was to spare me the toasting fork, 
now your piece is browned, I wouldn’t spoil the knife-end in the 
fire over mine. Being likewise the butter knife.” 

I was looking for it.” — And my Mother began to butter her 
piece (as I could hear by the scraping), but she stopped uneasily 
and came into the bedroom and looked at me. I pretended to be 
asleep. She kissed me, making matters ten times worse; and I 
suffered pangs of conscience, but kept my counsel. She returned 
to the toast, and resumed the conversation. 

“It’s ydur dress scorching now, Mrs. Packles — do ’ee double it 
back like I do mine.” 

I heard Mrs. P. accept the suggestion. 

“Vance is that particular about bloaters that I was thinking 
we might wait till he comes? Tea-time, — he said. One bloater 
kept back to be done later, has a feeling of discomfort when you 
come in and other folks has finished. Don’t you think so. 
Ma’am?” 

There was the slightest shade of asperity in the question, and 
I read in it that Mrs. Packles had looked unsympathetic. She 
also said something, but I failed to catch it, owing to Mrs. P. 
having a defect in her speech. Like Timour, she had only one 
tooth above and one below; but then they didn’t extend all along 
the gum, like his. However, she had the reputation of being a 
Tartar, and Mr. Packles used to confirm this report in public — 
perhaps I should say in publics. What Mrs. Packles had said 
evidently reflected on my Father. 

“No, Ma’am,” said my Mother. “On the contrary, Vance is 
by nature a sober man — not like neighbours of his I could name 
whose habits are proverbial, as the sayin’ is. In some cases, as 
you know. Ma’am, the smell of beer is transparent, and in such, 
credit is given undeserved. In others, secrecy throws a veil, even 
I am told in high places, and none suspect. But Vance was ever 
that open nature! However, we will put the bloaters on the 
trivet if you say the word.” 

Mrs. Packles couldn’t say the word for the reason I have men- 
tioned, nor any word distinctly. But I understood that she 
waived defence of Packles against my Mother’s insinuation, in 
consideration of the bloaters. Also that, to avoid the quicksands 
the conversation had so narrowly escaped, she passed in review 
the condiments or accompaniments to bloaters sanctioned by 
judges. I heard my Mother’s answer : — 


JOSEPH VANCE 


11 


" According to me, Mrs. Packles, and I am not sing’lar, gin on 
no account ! Coffee also, though no objection can be raised, if 
popular in quarters, is, to my thinking, contrary to bloaters. 
Now to ’ot tea and buttered toast, there can be no exception.’^ 

I felt that I was an exception. And how I repented my rash 
renunciation of supper while under excitement! I was getting 
very hungry, and there was no prospect of relief till breakfast, 
unless I cut into the conversation and risked further catechism 
about my afternoon. So I lay still and sucked my nightgown, of 
which I can distinctly recollect the flavour to this day. I only 
wish it had been an accompaniment of bloaters and hot tea and 
toast. Taken alone, nightgown juice is not nutritious. 

Mrs. Packles murmured assent, and was about to enlarge on 
the gratifying topic when she was interrupted by a footstep out- 
side. 

“IPs at your house,^’ said my Mother; “somebody is ringing 
the laundry bell.^^ — And Mrs. P. went out to investigate. A dis- 
tant colloquy followed, between a man’s voice and Mrs. Packles’s 
substitute for one; but nothing audible to me, until my Mother’s 
sudden — “Well, now!” — following on something she heard and I 
did not. The teacup she put down suddenly spilled and clicked 
on the saucer; but she disregarded it and went straight out after 
Mrs. Packles. Before the door had time to slam, I caught the 
words — “Are you Mrs. Vance?” — and recognized the step of a 
Policeman on the garden path. Then followed narrative of an 
unexcited sort from the Policeman, sobs and exclamations from 
my Mother, and sympathy from Mrs. Packles, who I felt sure was 
endeavouring to claim a fulfilment of prophecy recently and 
clearly made by herself. 

“Oh, Joey, Joey, Joey!” cried my Mother, “go to bed again 
this minute. Your Father’s in the Hospital, and I must go to 
him.” 

I had got out of bed and was standing in the doorway of 
the bedroom. As I find that I have in memory a picture of a 
small boy crying, with a very rough head, as well as of a large 
Policeman dripping (for it was raining hard) and my Mother 
pulling a hurried shawl on, and Mrs. Packles exhibiting sym- 
pathy, with the slightest flavour of triumph, I am inclined to 
think that the fifty-odd years that have passed since then have 
made me mix what I actually do recollect with what my Mother 
told me many times later. Otherwise how do I seem to myself to 
see, from the front room, that small boy standing in the doorway 
rubbing his grubby little face with his nightgown? 


12 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


Perhaps I went back to bed; perhaps I didn’t! Anyhow, my 
next clear memory is of sitting by the fire with Mrs. Packles, and 
of great satisfaction from fresh hot toast, which Mrs. Packles 
(who remained behind by request) intentionally made the vehicle 
of much less butter than she took herself. 

I don’t think she suspected me of having any story to tell be- 
yond what she had already heard — or she would certainly have 
pumped me for it, instead of making the conversation turn on 
the moral improvement of little boys. I was much too frightened 
to tell anything, even if I had not been too sleepy and greedy at 
the same moment. I wasn’t hypocrite enough at that early age to 
pretend I wanted to know what the Policeman had said. Or pos- 
sibly I mistrusted my powers of playing out the part, if I em- 
barked on enquiry from Mrs. Packles. Besides — it didn’t matter! 
Z knew what the Policeman had said a great deal better than I 
knew what Mrs. Packles was saying about (1) the necessity for the 
young to curb their inherent vices, or there was no knowing, (2) 
the accumulation of misfortunes all but herself were free from, 
but that she had to put up with, (3) her patience and fortitude 
under disaster, and (4) her power of anticipating events and no 
attention paid, not if she talked herself ’oarse ! 

Perhaps if I could have kept awake I should have known what 
it was to hear Mrs. Packles under a further drawback from 
hoarseness. But sleep overcame me, and I remember no mora 


CHAPTER n 


HOW JOE PREVARICATED. OF PORKY OWLS AND A SPORTINQ CABO. 
HOW JOE WAS A WITNESS; ALSO OF THE REV. MR. CAPSTICK AND OF 
MB. VANCE AS A CONTROVERSIALIST. HOW JOE VISITED HIS FATHER 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 

“Joey, you naughty story-telling boy, how dare you tell me 
your Father didn^t go to the Roebuck?” 

These were the first words I heard when I woke on the Sunday 
morning following. My reply was that it was the Hare and 
Hounds. I sat up in bed rubbing my eyes, and gave a confused 
account of the reasons why my Father had chosen the latter. I 
was quite under the impression that I was clearing his character 
and mine. So I was disappointed when my Mother called me a 
prevarication, and said it was more wicked to be a prevarication 
than a liar. I was sorry too at the revelation of a lower deep 
than lying, the evils of which my Mother had rubbed well into me. 

“But it^s his FatheFs doing, thank God, not mine,” added my 
Mother. “ He makes the boy as bad as himself. Though that I 
will say (and him a-lying in the Infirmary and losing the use of 
his limbs), poor Mr. Vance is by nature truthful and candid, and 
what he says to the child is ’eedless, and partakes of the nature 
of a joke.” 

A sympathetic murmur revealed a neighbour with an exactly 
similar experience in the next room. She wasn’t Mrs. Packles, 
who was at the tub, though Sunday, but Mrs. Owls (or perhaps 
Howells), who bore testimony to identical behaviour on the 
part of Mr. Owls towards his son, known to me as Porky Owls, 
but to his family as Bobby. A continuous narrative of what Mrs. 
O. said to Mr. O. to correct this vice of ’oaxin’ had to be ignored, 
as my Mother wished to extract information from me of what I 
had really seen. 

“Didn’t you see no Sweeps at the Roebuck, Joey dear?” said 
she. I shut my lips very tight and shook my head. 

“ I meant the Hare and Hounds.” — I nodded. — “ How open your 
lips and tell me all about it, or I feel getting that short-tempered 
I shall slap you.” 

“ I see one Sweep,” said 1. 


18 


14 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“ One Sweep bein^ by name ? ” said my Mother. 

^'Mr. Peter Gunn. And he crocked a hinseck what was in 
Eather^s ’arf -quartern, and Father fetched him a smack over the 
mouth.” 

I feel quite loyal even now when I remember how I concealed 
that the smack failed to reach its destination. How I knew Mr. 
Gunn’s name was Peter I cannot say. It had reached me some- 
how in the confusion. 

“ And then,” I went on, “ all the whole biling went out of the 
door and up the street and round the lane and acrost the canarl; 
and the loydy in the bar she said, ^ Stop the child,’ she did. But 
phe was inside of the bar and couldn’t get no holt of me, and I 
follered and follered ’em on and couldn’t cotch ’em, and I got lost, 
I did. And then the boys told me the wrong way, and it was 
ever such a long time, and then a gentleman with a wooden leg he 
gave me a lift, and chucked me down on the pavement just acrost 
the way, and I come in and rang, and you come to the door.” 

I felt it politic to suppress the bottle end, and my playing 
David to the Sweep’s Goliath. I didn’t know what developments 
might follow if I told the whole story. But I was consoled for 
this amount of prevarication by the rigid truthfulness of my 
last words. 

Now, is that all ? ” said my Mother. Don’t shut your mouth 
and nod in that aggravating way. What do you say when you 
speak?” — I said, ^‘That’s all!” — “Very well, then,” said my 
Mother, “now get up and clean yourself for Sunday.” 

Sunday passed miserably for my Mother and myself, but joy- 
ously for the neighbours, who fairly gloated over the satisfaction 
they derived from their sympathy with my Mother. It appeared 
on recapitulation that for weeks past a sort of Greek Chorus of 
prophecy had been performed by them, each having at some time 
or other predicted the whole, or most, of yesterday’s events. I 
don’t think that any of those who had foretold that Vance would 
come to grief from his pugnacity had actually named a Sweep 
who could butt, but short of that almost every feature of my 
Father’s disaster was claimed as a fulfilment. In the course of 
the day further particulars of this hideous Sweep and his accom- 
plishment came to hand. Porky Owls (who was about ten years 
old) had the good fortune to gather a narrative of the fight from 
a Sporting Card’s conversation with some other Cards at the 
Beer’us in North Street with Barclay Perkins Entire wrote up 
big. The Card’s opinion was that though Vance was not to say 


JOSEPH VANCE 


15 


drunk, it would be short of the truth to say he was mops and 
brooms. Anyway, he was the worse, and shouldn't have been 
allowed to fight. The Card was a good authority on such a point; 
for he had yaller leather storkins, goyters they call 'em, with 
white buttons, and a 'at — and he smoked a sighgyar and knocked 
off the hash with his little finger. And he says, “ Gunn," he says, 
“goes straight for his man’s stummick with his head. Oh yes," 
he saj's, “Vance he landed a good round blow, a square one, on 
Gunn's head as he come, — would have stopped you or me, — but 
Guim he says ^ That’s my nut,' he says, and down goes his man 
on his back! He ketches of 'im round the legs like. Vance," he 
says, “ come twice to time, but where’s the use with a man what 
can crosh you to a quart-pot with his head for a shillin' and for 
'arf-a-sovering will putt you down a walnut on a stone floor, and 
come down on it with his 'ed, and 'and it you cracked for eatin' 
and him not a penny the worse? What become of Vance?" he 
says. “ Well, what’s left of him's gone to the Oarsepital." And 
Porkj” imitated the laugh with which the narrative concluded. 
He further heard that some on 'um was for arskin' if it was fair 
play ; and the Card replied in substance that when all the umpires 
were drunk, errors were apt to creep in. But there seemed to have 
been a verdict to the effect that Mr. Gunn was entitled to the 
full advantage of his hard skull. It depended, of course, on how 
low you butted. 

Porky also was able to inform me that when the coppers was 
a-condiictin' of Gunn to the Station, some boys was a-aimin' 
and one of 'em heaved a bit of broken glast, and it cotched Gunn 
in the eye. The bo5"S they got away, and Porky's soul rejoiced, 
not from any malice against their victim, but because they were 
boys, necessarily in league against all other classes. I kept my 
own counsel. 

“ Well, I never," said my Mother, after another interview with 
a Policeman who called during my interview with Porky Owls. 

I do declare here's Joey will have to go to-morrow as a witness, 
and he don’t even know what a witness is." 

“I do/' said I, indignantly, “Barclay Perkins is a licensed 
witness. So's Mr. Shillibeer at the Roebuck." 

“That's a licensed witt’ler, bless the boy," said my Mother, 
laughing. “Well, Joey, you’ll have to go, and you must mind 
and tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." 

“ The whole truth about everything^ " I asked. An afiirmative 
nod from my Mother. I pondered deeply on this, as it seemed 


16 


JOSEPH VANCE 


to me what it is the slang nowadays to call a large order — and 
later education has confirmed this view. I resolved, however, to 
tell the truth about everything in the universe, except the 
broken-bottle incident. I was convinced that revelations on that 
point would mean that that frightful Sweep would one day catch 
me and crock me with his thumbnail as easily as he did the 
insect. 

Monday morning saw my Mother and myself on our way to 
a crowded Police-Court, where we were destined to spend the best 
part of the day waiting for me to be called as a witness. As a 
very small boy, packed in flush with the lower halves of a stuffy 
crowd of disreputable grown-ups cannot be expected fifty years 
later to be very clear about the proceedings, I will say nothing of 
them until our case is called, and will, so to speak, employ the 
time we are waiting in explaining one or two points without 
which my subsequent interview with the magistrate as a witness 
might be incomprehensible. 

My Father was a very ill-informed man on religious topics — 
so much so that he imagined that the phrase ^Hhe Religious 
Public” meant Mr. Capstick^s Chapel that my Mother went to 
on Sundays, and sometimes took me to. He conceived of it as a 
source of relief for spiritual thirst, as the Roebuck and its like 
were for material thirst. He was, therefore, ill-qualified to in- 
struct the young. My Mother, backed by Mr. Capstick, had 
endeavoured to supply this defect, perhaps I should rather say 
Mr. Capstick backed by my Mother. But my capacity for mis- 
understanding was great or the Reverend Benaiah’s instructions 
were liable to misinterpretation. 

I remember especially how his lessons on early Jewish history 
lost value owing to a confusion of identities which a person of 
more insight would have foreseen and provided against. Even 
now, Moses the Prophet, and Moses and Son the clothiers, do not 
discriminate themselves with the clearness I should desire at 
times. My error was found out and corrected. 

There, I declare now,” said my Mother, when I betrayed my 
misconception, if that child hasnT got ’old of the idear that 
Moseses is Moses ! ” 

I referred the matter to Porky Owls, who derided me for not 
knowing the difference. The former, he pointed out, were Jews 
and would go to Hell; and the latter was an Israelite and would 
go or had gone to Heaven, being in the Bible. I complimented 
Porky on his erudition, and he said, ‘‘Yes, Pm a wunner at 
knowing things, I am!” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


IT 


However, this is a digression from a digression. 

The Heverend Benaiah Capstick^s strong point was (and it was 
not an original thought of his own) that insomuch as it was 
desirable that Grace should abound, and Grace could not abound 
unless sinners were forthcoming to supply objects of Divine For- 
giveness, it was therefore right and fitting that that class of 
persons should be encouraged to perform their heinous function, 
and thereby make manifest to Mr. Capstick^s congregation the 
Merits of the Creator of the Solar System. 

My Father would remark, when this view was pronounced, 
that he for one would be very ^appy, only he didn’t wish to in- 
convenience other parties. Mr. Capstick would then point out 
that in a case where the interest involved was so great, it was right 
to sacrifice others, as well as our own self-righteousness. My 
Father then raised new objections. ^‘Wot I can’t make out,” 
said he, ^fis this here; — If a cove goes and sins, in the manner of 
4 speaking, to oblige, I’m blowed if I can see where the Merit 
^ comes in of forgivin’ of him.” 

Mr. Capstick took exception to the manner of speaking, but 
met this Prussian attack with calmness. ^^My friend,” said he, 
[i'^there are many things you cannot see. Pray for enlightenment! 
rin the case you suppose we cannot doubt but that the sinner who 
had the blasphemous presumption to conceive the idea of obliging 
I the Almighty, would find out his mistake too late, like the foolish 
Virgins in the parable. Believe me, all his unrighteousness 
would be but as filthy rags I Sin such as is necessary to the 
'existence of Grace, and in accordance with the Divine Purpose, 
must have its source in the depravity of the human heart.” 

My Father mused a little, and then remarked that he thought 
he could ackomerdate him at that too. Anyhow, he knew a party 
as could! I was an attentive listener to the discussion, and 
accepted it all in such good faith that I really felt a little sur- 
prised at Mr. Capstick’s not at once asking for the name and 
address of the party. 

My memory goes back from recalling as much as I have been 
able of the above conversation (and, to confess the truth, to hav- 
ing been obliged to fill it out in order that it should be intelli- 
gible — but it is a fair report in the main) to my half-suffocated 
little self in the crowded Police-Court. After long waiting I 
was able to gather that the next charge on the sheet was against 
Peter Gunn for Breach of the Peace — also for being drunk and 
threatening the Police when apprehended. I couldn’t really hear 
the mechanical recitation of his evidence by the Policeman who 


18 JOSEPH VANCE 

had been first on the spot, but I caught the Magistrate’s enquiry 
at the end. 

‘^You say they quarrelled in a pot-house? Is there anything 
to show which provoked the fight ? ” 

The answer I half heard seemed to me to be that there wavS 
nothing to rely on — ^which really meant that the young lady at 
the bar was the only credible witness, and that if the Police 
called her she would discontinue gratuitous supplies to the con- 
stable on duty. But there was a boy, Vance’s son; mother said 
he had a version of the matter pretty pat. Eor I had repeated 
my tale in full as far as the Hare and Hounds went. Was the 
boy here? Yes. So the boy found himself confronting the 
august functionary whom he had usually heard spoken of as 
“the Beak.” I was a little surprised to see no beak in the ordi- i 
nary sense. But I heard some one say something about the Box, I 
and thought perhaps the Beak was in the Box, and that the gen- ! 
tleman at the table meant to put it on later. My Father had fre- I 
quently dwelt on the incredible queemess of the Starts that | 
obtained in Law Courts. So I was prepared for anything and | 
acquiesced. I contemplated the Beak’s actual profile until I | 
found myself (unreasonably, as it struck me) required to kiss a 
book. I thought, however, I should be equally unreasonable to ' 
refuse or demur, so I kissed it with a very loud smack to show 
good-will, and then saw Mr. Gunn in the dock, presenting a ' 
frightful appearance. His eye was bandaged over with surgical I 
skill, and his face did not impress me any more favourably be- 
cause a portion of it had been washed round tlie eye, leaving j 
the remainder black with a streaky penumbra between. I shud- i 
dered and resolved more than ever to be a prevarication, at what- 
ever risk to my soul, so far as my own share in the production : 
of this hideous vision went. 

“He looks a very small boy,” said the Magistrate. And the 
Police-Inspector, who seemed to represent the prosecution, said: 

“ Oh, he's sharp enough. He’s nine year old.” — “ Eight in i 
Orgust,” said I. — “ Eight I should have said,” said the Inspector, I 
as if it didn’t matter. “You speak up, old chap, and tell his I 
Worship what you saw at the Pot’us.” 

“ Moy Father, he ordered quart o’ four ale and giv’ me some 
out o’ the pot. Then he swallered off the rest, and when he come 
to the end he says strike me blind, he says, if there ain’t a hinseck i 
in this, here pot. And he totes the hinseck out on the bar and he 
histes me up by the trousers for to see him. Six legs he had and 
wings like. And Mr. Peter Gunn he says, ^Crock him,’ he says I ; 


JOSEPH VANCE 


19 


And moy Father he says, not if he knowed it! And Mr. Peter 
Gunn he crocks him hisself. And then my Father he fetches 
Mr. Peter Gunn a smack over the mouth. And there was words, 
and they went out for to fight, because the loydy in the bar said 
not in there.” 

Hoes this child know the nature of an oath ? ” said the Magis- 
trate. 

^‘You know where little boys go to that tell fibs?” said the 
Police-Inspector. Coorse you do! Speak up, my lad. Where 
will you go to if you don’t speak the truth? Bein’ on oath, mind 
you ! ” 

If I tells lies I shall go to Heaven because of the Divine 
Grace,” said I, boldly ; Mr. Capstick says so.” 

The Magistrate. — “ Who’s Mr. Capstick ? ” 

Me. — “ Wot keeps the Religious Public in the Orfington Road.” 
The Magistrate. — “ And Mr. Capstick says you go to Heaven 
for telling lies?” 

Me. — That Grace may abound — the Grace of the Lord.” 

At this point the Inspector had to interpose with some elucida- 
tion, for I had picked up Mr. Capstick’s pronunciation with his 
Divinity. After which I pursued my narrative. 

And Father he says, ^ That cock won’t fight.’ After Mr. 
Capstick had gone, you know,” I added; because I didn’t want to 
give the impression that my Father had risen in open rebellion 
against religious instruction, in addition to his other sins. 
Magistrate. — And what did your Mother say ? ” 

Me. — Said I was best in bed. And then when I was a-gittin’ 
orf my trousers, I heard Father say that cock wouldn’t fight. 
Sim’lar I heard him say Mr. Capstick was a complicated beggar 
to hargue, and Mother she said tell truth and shame the Devil! 
But Mr. Capstick is a good and blessed gentleman, she says, and 
such we ought to pray for.” 

A boy that thinks he will go to Heaven for telling lies is not 
much use as a witness, however sharp he is. Take away the boy.” 
Thus the magistrate, and I was taken away and felt disgraced. 

“ His Father is, you say, in a bad way in the Infirmary ? ” 

I think the Inspector or the Clerk of the Court handed in a 
medical report, and the Magistrate said “ Hm ! ” and my Mother 
said Oh law ! oh gracious ! ” and showed symptoms of hysterics. 
And somebody said, ^^Silence in the Court! — Take the woman 
out if she can’t be quiet.” Then there was some more discussion, 
in which I think I heard the prisoner’s voice, for it was a squeaky 
voice, when it came out, like a costermonger’s that misses fire as 


20 


JOSEPH VANCE 


often as not — so it was easily recognizable. His platform, as we 
should say nowadays, seemed to be a justification of butting. 
Great interest was shown by a husky male public. Then silence 
was called, and the Magistrate got his turn again. This court,’^ 
he said, “ is not a court for the decision of questions of prize- 
fighting. If one man is killed in a fight, fair or foul, the other 
will have to take his trial for manslaughter. Provocation might 
be an extenuating circumstance. In this case there is no 
evidence to show which began it. Boy^s evidence can’t be ac- 
cepted. Gunn will have to go to gaol unless he can find sureties. 
Next case ! What’s the next charge, Mr. Bottle ? ” 

I need hardly say that I have had to reconstruct the Magis- 
trate’s remarks from later experience. In this last speech, though 
I carried away the meaning, the only words I could swear to 
(now that I fully understood the nature of an oath) are sureties 
and Bottle, and in respect of the latter I disbelieve my own 
evidence. I don’t believe that Clerk of that (or any) court was 
named Bottle, nor that Inspector. But sureties I got all right 
as far as the sound went; only I misspelt it mentally and shud- 
dered with dread lest I should be one of the shorties Mr. Gunn 
would find. So I was very glad when my Mother said we would 
go away, and perhaps if I was good they would allow me in at 
the Infirmary to see Father! 

I suppose I was good, as they allowed us both in at the In- 
firmary on the following Wednesday. It wasn’t a comfortable 
[visit, as an evil-minded nurse with a squint impended over us all 
the time, and egged us on to completion of our interview almost 
before we had begun it. ‘‘You’ll have to look sharp,” she said, 
“the Doctor’s coming.” But when she said, — “You must clear 
out now. Time’s up,” — ^no Doctor had appeared. I didn’t believe 
in that Doctor. 

My Father didn’t seem to be at liberty to move, but his eyes 
turned round. “ Is that the young nipper ? ” — ^he said, and then 
added, — “I’m a-goin’ to be even with that there bloody Sweep, I 
am.” I repeat my regret for having to record this expression; but 
I cannot help recollecting it. 

“ Perhaps the Beak will have him hanged,” said I. I was not 
informed about the course of Justice in England, and my Father 
corrected me. 

“ He’s only ’arf a Beak what you seen. He can’t only send for 
S;rial — and then only for manslaughter. And even for that I 
ehould have to die first, and then I shouldn’t live to see him 
convicted. Onfair and onjust, 1 say I” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


21 


“ But his eye is spiled, Father,^^ said 1. 

‘‘But I didnH spile it,’’ said my Father. 

If I had not felt that the evil nurse would overhear and tell 
the Sweep, I really think I should have confessed up. However, 
I decided against doing so, as before, and launched into another 
topic. 

“ I say. Father! Mother says we ought to love our enemies.” 

My Mother murmured confirmation, but added that that young 
Turk (myself) had said, — “ Catch me at it! ”■ My Father laughed, 
and the evil nurse cut in with, — “ The patient is not to laugh.” 
So he stifled the laugh, and became black in the face. When he 
recovered he said, “ On what accounts did you say that, hay ? ” 
and I replied that I would love them fast enough if they would 
love me. And my Mother said, “But then, dear Joey, there 
wouldn’t be no enemies, and where should we be then ? ” My 
Father said, “That would never do!” and added that we was 
a-gettin’ on to one of Mr. Capstick’s Complicated Mixtures; by 
which he meant that we were getting involved in delicate ques- 
tions of casuistry. 

“ Not but what I could find it in my ’art to forgive that bloody 
Sweep,” he went on, “but if you come to considerin’ of the 
conduct of the party what put that brick hedgewise up to ketch 
me in the small of the back, and it’s wery sure that you may fall 
and fall a hundred times and none the worse, and no motive but 
sheer unquorlified malice, and a i)erfect stranger.” 

My Father forgot that he had begun a sentence, or saw no waj 
to a grammatical exit from it. So he stopped short and merely 
said “ Damn him ! ” My Mother suggested the possibility of un- 
designed accident and he replied, “ Accident be damned ! ” and 
the evil nurse cut in again with “ That patient is not to get 
excited and take his hands out of bed,” and after a minute or 
two came and routed us, as well as one or two other visitors, and 
drove us forth with contumely, refusing information about the 
probabilities of the case. “ Can’t say yet awhile,” was all we got. 
“ Thank you. Ma’am,” said my Mother — so meekly that the evil 
nurse relented and made the concession of saying, “/ shouldn’t 
be in a fuss about him, if I was you.” 

There was a vague implication in this (as in the remarks of the 
wooden -legged man) that my Father, owing to his being such a 
mauvais-sujet, had special powers of surviving spinal concus- 
sion. Their forecast was certainly right, for in about three 
weeks he was fit to be moved — or at least was moved, and escaped 
little if any the worse. 


CHAPTER in 


OP joe’s father’s convalescence, and of his connection with a 

BENEFIT CLUB. OF JOE’s EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, AND OF HOW A VERY 

UTTLE MAN SOLD HIS FATHER A SIGNBOARD. 

Owing to my Mother’s care and foresight the financial strain 
resulting from my Father’s being thrown so long out of work waa 
not so bad as it might have been. She had persuaded him to be- 
come a member of the Workman’s Benefit Club two years before, 
and he had paid twelve monthly subscriptions. But throughout 
the year he proclaimed his intention of stopping the subscrip- 
tion unless some accident happened to enable him to reap the 
fruits of his self-sacrifice. No one could make him understand 
that there was any sanguinary use (as he required that there 
should be) in paying the price of so many quarts of ale and not 
getting a stiver back for it. I asked him what a stiver was, and 
he said, Never see one, so I can’t say.” When the twelfth 
subscription had been paid, and no stiver came (to my regret, 
as I wished to know about it), my Father told my Mother she 
might go on payin’ of it if she liked. She did not like, but she 
did it, out of the scanty proceeds of her trade, announced in the 
window as Pinking done here,” as if she had been a sort of 
professional duellist. And when my Father came to grief, she 
applied for a weekly payment as stipulated in the Rules of the 
Society. 

I believe that there was dissension in that Society on the ques- 
tion whether Vance was entitled to this. A Peace-Party appeared 
within its ranks, and its Members would have been branded as 
Sentimentalists, Doctrinaires, and Faddists had the Society been 
acquainted with those terms. But my impression is that they 
have enriched our vocabulary only recently. I may be mistaken 
in this, but it is certain that no expression stronger than bloody 
sneaks ever reached my ears. The view of the Sneaks was that 
my Father’s mishap did not come within the meaning of the 
Society’s Rules as an accident, and that he was entitled to 
nothing. The opposite, or War-Party, consisting of the majority 
of the unofficial members, rose as one man and denounced this 

22 


JOSEPH VANCE 


as 

view. It supposed that the Peace-Party was a-goin^ to put an 
end to all fightin’ next. The fact that my Father was in liquor 
at the time of the fight also procured him a good deal of sympathy 
— so much so that the eight shillings a week he received was 
prolonged (to spite the Peace-Party) a good deal beyond the 
appointed limit. I gathered these points from my Mother’s 
conversation. 

‘‘And generous and right I call it,” she continued, “of the 
Society to break through its rules for Vance, he having to a 
very great extent called the members language. But his ’art is 
that good, language may be overlooked. But I do admit, Ma’am, 
if you ask me, that I do not think, strictly speaking, that Vance 
was entitled; though thankful, I need hardly say.” 

The reply of Mrs. Packles was at some length, but was abso- 
lutely unintelligible to me from beginning to end. My Mother’s 
rejoinder made it clear that Mrs. P. had made some apology for 
the Peace-Party or Sneaks. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” she said, “excusable if not animated by per- 
sonal motives. But with such can we wonder if Derision is pro- 
voked and the offendin’ Members is accosted in the street with 
application for a tract?” — For it appeared that the War-Party 
would touch its hat with affected humility to the Peace-Party, 
and apply for the donation of a tract, as my Mother said. 

Of course even with this windfall my parents were very hard 
up. My Father ate more than his share of breakfast and dinner, 
as an invalid who required feeding up; and enjoyed his conva- 
lescence amazingly. He seemed to take kindly to doing nothing at 
other people’s expense, and spent a pleasant two months or more 
on his back, devising means of being even with Peter Gunn. 
Then the Doctor of the Society suggested the view that he 
wouldn’t recover the use of his legs until his allowance was 
stopped. 

“Maybe you’re right, Mister,” said my Father, candidly, “but 
you w'on’t be for stopping for a month yet. Make it a month.” 

The Society made it a month, and the patient, as soon as he 
had obtained a pledge to that effect, took up his bed metaphori- 
cally and walked. His pins were rather dot and go one, he said, 
but he looked forward with confidence to being even with the 
Sweep. 

In the meantime, the Society’s allowance lapsing at the end 
of the month, it became imperative to my Father to git on a job. 
But while professing feverish anxiety for work (for its own sake, 
quite irrespective of salary), what he represented as an hereditary 


24 


JOSEPH VANCE 


instinct of caution prompted him to delay accepting any one of 
the numerous offers which he suggested were showered upon him. 
“I ain^t a-goin’ to jump down any of their throats/^ he saicL 
‘‘ My Father wam’t the man to throw hisself away, and your 
Father, Joey, he takes after him.” 

I had some difficulty in analyzing this, which seemed to me 
rather like a Complicated Mixture of Mr. Capstick. I did it, 
however, with the result that I could not reconcile the image it 
gave me of my Grandfather persecuted with applications for his 
services, and my Father’s report of him at other times. 

“ Drove the same cab he did, all his life,” he would say, and 
wery nearly the same prad.” I had to rest contented with a 
mixed impression of my ancestor, and to accept as a family trait 
the calmness with which my Father spent his days smoking and 
so forth while my Mother plied her industrious scissors at the 
mystery of Pinking. A very small store of cash at a Gothic 
Savings Bank standing back in a garden in the Orpington Road 
helped out our small resources at this time, or I don’t precisely 
know what we should have fed on. 

My Father, however, did not (it appeared later) spend this 
interval of idleness entirely in hatching schemes for being even 
with the Sweep. He apparently thought seriously over the 
advantages which the Employer has over the Employed, and cast 
about in his mind for the best means of becoming one him- 
self. 

My first information to this effect reached me one fine summer 
evening in August, which I remember the more vividly because 
it was my birthday and I was eight, and my Father had given 
me a boxwood peg-top and my Mother a new pair of socks she 
diad made herself. This day had been a fine day and no mistake 
— so the popular verdict said. There seems too often in these 
days to be a mistake, and we feel chilly and grown old. 

“ J ust to think of the young nipper having turned eight ! ” said 
he. “ We shall be a-havin’ of him eighty next.” 

This seemed so illogical that I felt bound to say something in 
defence of the intervening seventy-two years. ‘‘Well, anywise, 
what ’ll you be next year ? ” — “ Nine,” said I. — “ Very well, then,” 
said my Father, “ we’ll let it go at that, and when next year comes 
it ’ll be time enough to bust our bilers over it.” 

I accepted this as a compromise. But I thought it very unfair 
of my Father to add, “You see, I wasn’t so very far wrong after 
alL” I was, however, prevented from returning to the charge 


JOSEPH VANCE 


25 


by the appearance of a very little man indeed, who was pushing 
a truck and who stopped outside our gate. 

“I suppose, Guv’nor,^^ said he to my Father, ‘‘you couldn’t 
oblige me with a scrop o’ wire to wire out the hile out of my pipe. 
The drorin’ of it is stopped.” My Father made no remark, but 
went into the house. 

“ I knowed you was an obligin’ Guv’nor,” said the little man. 

My Father returned with a hairpin of my Mother’s. “You 
can have that,” he said, “ subject to bendin’ of it back and wipin’ 
clean after use.” The terms were accepted, and I watched the 
cleaning of the pipe with great interest. It was so short a pipe 
that it was cleaned without straightening the hairpin. The little 
man wiped the latter on his neckcloth, and handed it back to my 
Father. 

“With many thanks to yourself, Guv’nor,” said he. “It’s wery 
seldom I find myself without a piece of wire, and I felt quite at 
sea like.” This was the first time I had heard that expression; 
so my mind was immediately on the alert to enquire as to 
the connection between naval matters and shortness of wire 
supply. 

“ You might run your eye through my stork-in-trade,” said 
the little man. So my Father and I crossed over the very wide 
margin of pathway with a four-foot stone pavement along the 
middle and stood under the battered remains of what was once 
an elm tree in a country road, and ran our eye through the 
stock-in-trade. 

It consisted chiefly of old ironware, tools, screwdrivers and 
chisels, hammers and gimlets, and bradawls, but each one of a 
different age, size, and seeming: of pincers that didn’t open far 
enough; of pliers of which the side nipper was worn out; of foot- 
rules that had come apart at the hinge and been unprofessionally 
repaired; of a substantial box-screw with a cross-lever loose 
through a hole in the bulb at the top; of a beautiful stoppered 
bottle richly engraved with a label describing something which I 
presume no one ever wanted to bottle, or this one could never 
have fallen so low; of an accordion — and so forth, through a long 
list of second-hand, third-hand, fourth-hand things, all more or 
less past service, except things, by nature invulnerable, as pincers 
or the box-screw above mentioned. 

“ Licensed ’Awker,” said the little man, replying to an enquiry 
of my Father’s as to how his trade should be accurately described. 
“But some, they prefer to call me an Itinerant Marine Store 
Dealer; some, a General ’Ardware. It’s all how you look at it! 


JOSEPH VANCE 


And you’d be surprised what a good trade it is! O’ coorse you 
has to know how to do it, or where would you be in no time?” 

He went on to indicate some of the secrets of success. It 
appeared that so long as he made a parade of his unwillingness 
to sell, representing himself as an eccentric person who had a 
strange taste for wheeling a barrow of rather useless articles 
about the streets, quite independently of mercenary considera- 
tions, he was always sure to find a customer. 

“ Just you rub it in to them that you don’t want to sell a gim- 
let or a turnscrew, and that gimlet or that turnscrew they’ll want 
to buy. New things, o’ coorse, is another rule altogether! Where 
would ever be the use of puttin’ a couple o’ gross o’ bran’-new 
chisels in a winder, and standin’ ’ollerin’ at the shop door that 
you didn’t want to sell ’em? You’d only give the public a dis- 
taste. Sim’lar, when I sees a lot I want to purchase cheap, I 
says, ^ Sorry I didn’t come by your way yesterday,’ I says, ‘ afore 
I’d bought a reg’lar small cart-load of that wery sort which I 
shan’t trade ofi in a hurry.’ WTiy, they’ll come runnin’ down the 
street after me a’most offering of me a drink for to take the goods 
off their hands for nothing.” 

You’ll never sell that now. I’ll wager,” said my Father, touch- 
ing a piece of board with some writing on it. 

The little man had his pipe in his mouth while talking, and as 
his voice was very inaudible (though nothing to Mrs. Packleses) 
when his pipe was admitted through a defective tooth-space on 
the left, and only became clear when he shifted it to the right, 
his speech had come in gusts, like linnets in the pauses of the 
wind. He took the pipe out altogether now to gain emphasis for 
a sweeping repudiation. 

Never — sell — that!” said he. And the orfers I’ve had for 
it ! Why, only look at it ! ” 

‘^This here young chap’s a scollard,” said my Father, ^‘and 
he’ll read us off what’s wrote on that there board with a’most 
any man in England.” 

I didn’t understand my Father’s motive for pretending he 
couldn’t read it himself (which I knew he could), but I felt proud 
of being as it were pitted against the University, and conscien- 
tiously read as follows: Dance, Builder. Kepairs. Drains 

promptly attended to.” Promptly puzzled me a little, but my in- 
terpretation passed muster. 

‘‘Now if you’ve had orfers, why didn’t you sell this here 
board ? ” said my Father. 

He . — “ Cos none of ’em come to a half-a-crown.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


27 

have gone to half-a-crown myself,” said my Father, 
there’d a been a little more on it.” 

He, — “Why, what more do you want?” 

My Father . — “ If there’d been Wan-Proprietor on it, Fd have 
took it off you myself for half-a-crown.” 

He . — “I don’t see any Wans.” 

Father . — “ This ain’t the only place in the world. The Wans 
is elsewhere. I could have made shift to write in a new name, 
and it would have come in ’andy ” 

He. — “It’s a pity, ’cos we might have done a trade over it. 
But a party by name C. Davis having offered eighteenpence on 
the grounds of easily altering of the name, I should be blamed 
by my missus if I took less than half-a-crown.” 

F . — “ It wouldn’t be not to say any good to me without Wan- 
Proprietor, or I might have gone to one and nine. But without 
Wan-Proprietor I couldn’t pass a shilling.” 

I did not then understand the value of the dramatic fictions 
with which the bargainer in all countries adorns, disguises, or 
accounts for his motives. So I was taken aback at the little man 
suddenly saying, “Make it fifteenx)ence,” and my Father pro- 
ducing that sum. Where he can have got it I can’t tell — but he 
handed it to the little man and received the board in exchange. 
Its vendor seemed to wish to place his own conduct on a logical 
footing, for he said as he prepared to resume his march, 
“ Coorse it’s always pleasant to oblige an obliging Guv’nor ; and 
as for C. Davis wot I spoke of, he’s only a chap that comes from 
’Ackney on Saturdays and squints.” 

Did he, I asked myself, go back to Hackney on Saturday when 
he had squinted? But I grappled in vain with the problems sug- 
gested, and gave them up in despair. Besides, I had to puzzle 
out why my Father had purchased this board, and what earthly 
use it could be to him? 

It may seem odd that I did not at once observe the resemblance 
between C. Dance and C. Vance (my Father’s name was Chris- 
topher). I suppose that my own name presented itself to me not 
as a mere sound or collection of letters, but a mysterious entity 
having qualities of its own distinguishing it from all other 
created things. Others have told me the same; and my belief is 
that most people have the same experience of the aspect of their 
names. Anyhow, the possibility of altering Dance to Vance, by 
changing the first letter, came to me as a new light when my 
Father, having given my Mother a great shock by announcing 
his extravagance, pointed it out to her. 


28 


JOSEPH VANCE 


** I was thinking,” said he, of putting up some sort of a 
notice-board, and this here will look like an old-established goin’ 
concern.” My Mother replied by expressing a hope that the 
venture might prove Providential, under the blessing of God, but 
she could not refrain from adding, But oh, my dear V ance, 
one shillin’ and threepence ! ” 

“Two tizzies and one thrup’ny bit,” said my Father, unfeel- 
ingly; “and I say, Joey, Sir, who’s that boy^s father wot you got 
1 such a basting about ? ” As there had been one or two bastings 
consequent on boys, I thought a minute and said, “Wot? that 
one that we shoved a ’ap’ny cracker in the old Bloke’s letter-box 
and then giv’ a postman’s knock, and the nurse went into Hix- 
terics?” — “No, no,” said my Father, “long afore that — ^him what 
got his father’s colour-toobs and done you Vermilion and hisself 
Booshian Blue.” 

“Oh,” said I, “of course thaPs Gummy Harbuttle — Father’s 
name W. Harbuttle, Sign-writer-and-decorated-shop-fronts-com- 
pleted-at-the-shortest-notice.” All which I delivered rapidly as 
the true and proper designation of Mr. Harbuttle. 

“Wery good, then. Bound we goes to-morrow morning to Mr. 
Parbuckle and we’ll see if he won’t make good this here error in 
this here signboard.” For my Father thenceforward treated the 
letter he proposed to correct as an erratum due to the ignorance 
of the original composer. 

Next morning round we went. My Father persisted in speak- 
ing of Mr. Parbuckle till we got to the shop, when he grudgingly 
admitted that he supposed the beggar’s version of his own name 
was right. He gave no particular account of the provenance of 
the signboard, merely suggesting rather than affirming that it 
was done wrong at the first go-off and hadn’t never been of any 
„ use to him. Which was perfectly correct if intended as an in- 
dictment of Providence, but required for perfect truth the addi- 
tional statement that it had only been done wrong for my Father 
because it had been done right for Mr. C. Dance (whoever he 
was) who had to pay for it. 

Gummy Harbuttle, the son of the house, was in the shop stir- 
ring paint through a strainer. He and I acknowledged each other 
distantly, in the manner of boys when parents are to the fore. 
Mr. Harbuttle senior was having a bit of breakfast, and I hope 
acted on my Father’s intimation that there was no ’urry. He 
presently appeared, wiping the white lead on his apron into the 
rear-guard of the disappearing bit of breakfast, and endangering 
his constitution. 


JOSEPH YANCE 


29 


I think he must have suspected something deceptious in the 
alteration of the letter, in spite of my Father’s semi-explanation; 
for he entered into the job with the enthusiasm of an Italian 
forger of an Old Master. 

I see,” said he, you want it all alike all over, like as if it 
was all done by the same hand. I’ll do it so you’ll never know it 
wasn’t — cracks and all. Cost you a shillin’. Couldn’t do it for 
less. You see, there’s a little bit of glidin’.” 

The question of style had to be considered. — ^‘You couldn’t 
call it Gothic lettering, now could you ? ” said Mr. Harbuttle. 
*^Nor yet it ain’t exactly Roman.” My Father replied that he 
was not a dab at this sort of thing, while on the other hand Mr. 
Harbuttle was an acknowledged dab. He would therefore leave 
it to Mr. H. to gammon the sorts together in his own way, 
which is what I suppose would be described as an Eclectic treat- 
ment. Mr. Harbuttle said if my Father sent his boy with a 
shillin’ on Monday s’ennight he would find the job done and dry. 
It would want all that time to dry. My Father said he would; 
and I thought what fun it would be carrying that signboard 
through the public streets all by myself. But I wasn’t allowed 
to go alone. My Father came too as a protection, and I had to 
console myself with carrying it on my head at intervals. 


CHAPTER IV 


A SHORT CHAPTER, BUT THEN IT IS THE THIN END OP A BIO WEDGE. 

FOB IT TELLS HOW MR. VANCE GOT HIS FIRST BUILDING JOB. 

My Mother soon became convinced that my Father’s invest- 
ment of two and threepence was not altogether so mad a one 
as it had at first seemed. 

“Pm sure,” she said, ‘^one never would have thought it! It 
do look exactly as if it had been there since Doomsday.” This 
was merely a slip of her tongue as she and Mr. Capstick knew 
all about Doomsday. “ And I will say the effect that board has 
on the passing spectator is Electrical.” My Mother went on to 
quote a convincing instance. “ Why, there was the Dust, only the 
other day, stopped ringin’ of his bell and says, to think that 
there board should have been there all those years and him never 
seen it ! ” My Mother evidently thought that to stop a Dustman 
ringing his bell was like damming Niagara. 

There came another convincing proof of the Electrical effect 
of the board within a fortnight of its being attached to the wall 
of our cottage. 

My Mother, as I have mentioned, had for a long time been a 
depositor of small sums in the Savings Bank I have described as 
Gothic; I am not sure though that that is the correct way of 
classifying it; Mr. Harbuttle would have known. Perhaps I 
should have said Rustic, perhaps Swiss. Anyhow, it had latticed 
windows and a high-pitched roof, and a good deal of external 
woodwork, and a small porch covered with honeysuckle, — and 
altogether looked like a place for a virtuous heroine to be per- 
secuted in. It is gone now, and I cannot correct my impressions. 
Besides, it doesn’t matter in the least what it was like. What we 
have to do with is the elderly middle-aged gentleman who used to 
attend to the business on the second Monday in every month. 
He did this service gratuitously; alternating attendance with 
another gentleman on each fourth Monday who was not such a 
favourite with the customers as his coadjutor, because he didn’t 
let them talk, and confined himself brutally to business. On the 
other hand, Dr. Rafidall Thorpe not only accepted, as necessary 

30 


JOSEPH VANCE 


31 


to Banking Transactions, family details of the reasons for with- 
drawing deposits, but used to fudge the accounts to the credit of 
the latter, and make good deficits out of his own pocket in what 
he considered deserving cases. 

My Mother returned from the Savings Bank one evening 
bursting with the importance of her news Only to think, 
Vance,” she said, ‘T)r. Thorpe, he ackchly took notice!” — 

Took notice of what ? ” said my Father. 

But my Mother was not the woman to do injustice to important 
news by informal or premature disclosure. So she said, “ Now 
just you have half-a-minute^s patience till my shawl and bonnet^s 
off, and then I^U get you and Joey your Teas. I see the kettle^s 
on the bile, and I’m glad you had the sense to it.” 

My Father remarked, while we had the haK-minute’s patience, 
which had to be distributed over eight, that my Mother was just 
like ’em. I asked like whom, and my Father said females. This 
seemed a suggestion that my Mother had a sex to herself, and I 
felt inclined to pursue the subject. But my Mother returned 
and said, “Now, Joey, you be a good boy and ’and me out the 
tea-things.” I did so out of the deep cupboard near the window, 
that had a semi-circular back to it and a round top which ab- 
sorbed half the available corner-space. When all arrangements 
were complete, my Mother re-broached the interesting topic. 

“ Well,” she said, “ I do like that ! Saying what, and pretend- 
ing not to know. Why, of course, C. Vance, Builder. Repairs. 
Drainage promptly attended to.” 

“ What did he say then ? Spit it out. Missus.” I must explain 
that my Father would sometimes assume a manner, difficult to 
describe, but which went a long way to make it possible to say 
offensive things without giving offence. It was jocular and semi- 
bacchanalian, and conveyed an impression that the speaker was 
too lazy and good-humoured to take the trouble not to speak 
slightly through the nose, or to use any sibilant except z. I fear 
this doesn’t make it any plainer — and I shall have to be content 
with recording that my Mother showed no resentment at being 
told to spit it out, but merely said, “ Go along ! Spit it out, 
indeed ! ” and then gave the substance of her communication. 

“ Dr. Thorpe he says first, ^ What I — another dror’ out ! ’ — ^he 
says. And I says, ‘Yes, Doctor, and myself sorrowful-like to 
have to. But my man’s allowance from the sick-fund coming to 
an end, and the boy to feed, disposes of one’s savings gradual and 
not noticeable.’ — ‘ So it does, Mrs. Vance,’ says he. ‘ But you’re 
richer than you think by five shillings according to the books 


33 


JOSEPH VANCE 


this week, so we won^t begin to cry till next week/ — ^ You’re truly 
kind. Doctor,’ says I, and then he says, * By the bye, your name 
must be a name in these parts ’cos I see it on a board in a ’ouse 
in a sort of stand-back off the High Koad/ — ^ That’s our house. 
Doctor,’ says I, ‘ and we call the bit in front the garden.’ — ^ Well, 
then,’ says he, ‘your husband does buildin’ jobs.’ And I says, 
‘ Yes/ And he says, ‘ They was enquiring at the ’ouse for some 
one to see to the nursery chimney, likewise the drains in the 
basement; and I can’t promise the job to Mr. Vance, but if he 
comes round to-morrow morning at nine, and don’t find anything 
to do. I’ll give him a couple of shillings to cover expenses.’ And 
then he giv’ me his card, and here it is ! ” 

My Father took the card, looked at it, and buttoned it into a 
pocket. He was evidently inflated with gratification, but too 
proud to allow it, and he took this method of showing a slight 
self-assertion for the better preservation of a fiction about male 
authority. A few moments passed of complacent silence on his 
part, mixed with reluctance to concede approval to a female. 
But my Mother, having said her say, was not going to give way to 
this little bit of husbandly discipline-mongering. — Of course she 
beat, and my Father had to speak. 

“You ain’t sendin’ me my tea,” he said. 

“’Cos you never asked for it! Don’t you slop it over now, 
Joey ! ” 

My Father took his time over his tea and came for more. Then 
he said, as one to whom an abstract truth occurs, unconnected 
with any subject under discussion, “Females is sometimes wrong, 
Joey.” 

“ What about. Daddy ? ” said I. 

“Females is sometimes wrong about signboards which their 
husbands places in front of their ’ouses, on the left-’and side of 
the door.” He adhered in manner to the suggestion that he was 
merely pointing a moral for the benefit of humanity, without 
special reference to any recent incident. 

“Well, there, I declare now, Vance!” struck in my Mother, 
good-humouredly, “ you’ll never be done chaffin’ me about 
that! — And all I said was two and threepence was a lot of 
money ! ” 

“ I know a boy,” said I, irrelevantly, “ wot chucked for coppers 
and won two and ninepence.” Neither of my parents seemed to 
think this boy a desirable topic; but whether it was on that 
account, or because he had nothing whatever to do with the mat* 
ter in hand, they both said, “Shut up, Joey!” I don’t know. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


33 


"But seriously now, as the sayin’ is, Vance dear,” my jiJother 
went on, “ what do you know about buildin’ ? ” 

My Father picked up his empty pipe from the tea-tray, where 
it had lain since he began his tea, tapped the ashes carefully out 
on a clean bit of the deal table, blew through it, filled it, lighted 
it, and settled down to a comfortable smoke. "What was you 
a-askin’ of me ? ” said he. 

" What do you know about buildin’ ? ” said my Mother, chang- 
ing only an accent in her question. 

" Nothin’ whatever,” said my Father. 

" And, my gracious me,” cried my Mother, in great concern, 
" there you’ve gone and advertised as such ! Well, I never ! And 
it’s Builder wrote up clear and unmistakable.” 

" That’s the p’int, my dear,” said my Father. " That’s the 
whole p’int! Builders knows nothing about Buildin’.” 

“ Your Father he’s talkin’ that nonsensical, Joey, that you best 
come and help me clear away tea.” 

My Father finished his pipe while the tea-things disappeared. 
He then took me on his knee and proceeded to enlighten me on 
the subject in hand. He excluded my Mother from participation, 
and addressed himself solely to me. 

" That’s just precisely the whole pfint, Joseph, my son,” he said. 

Builders knows nothin’ about Buildin’. Other people knows 
somethin , if they don’t know much, but Builders they knows ab- 
so-lootly nothin’ I ” 

"Does Mr. Capstick know anything about Buildin’?” said I. 

"Mis-ter Capstick! Why, he ain’t a tradesman at all! O’ 
coorse I’m speakin’ of tradesmen. Mr. Capstick’s a sort o’ 
second’and clergyman, and they don’t know nothin’ at all about 
anything. My meanin’ is clear! WTien a man’s a Carpenter he 
mostly knows a little about Carpenterin’. When he’s a Jiner, 
sim’lar. When a Bricklayer, Plasterer, Paper ’Anger, Painter, 
or Glazier, the same ’olds good of any tradesman. But when 
he’s a Builder he knows nothing, and no need to neither. He 
ain’t called on to Carpenter and Jine, nor yet if he don’t know 
a Bat from a Closure it’s no account, nor if he knew no more of 
Paperhanging than how to fold back it wouldn’t hurt him. He’d 
never want to touch a paste-brush.” 

" But you know,” said my Mother, " you must know something’ 
about it, or you couldn’t poll-parrot to" that degree.” 

"Well, my dear,” said my Father, mollified, lapsing from his 
didactic to his jocular manner, "coorse a man can’t ketch others 
out for knowin’ nothin’ unless he knows something hisself. Be- 


34 


JOSEPH VANCE 


sides/^ he added, with still further concession, Fve been a ^andy 
man time and again, at an odd trade or two. Joey and meTl go 
over to this here Dr. Thorpusses, Popular Wilier, to-morrow 
momin’ at nine precisely.” 

This was said in an incisive manner, to give a favourable im- 
pression of the promptitude with which drains were going to be 
attended to. 


CHAPTER V 


OP joe’s very first visit to poplar villa, op its drains and their 

STENCH, of how JOE SAW HIS FIRST REAL YOUNG LADY AT HOME. 

HOW SHE KISSED JOE, AND JOE LIKED IT. OP A PEAR TREE THAT 

LIVED THENCEFORWARD IN JOE’s MEMORY. OF HIS RETURN HOME. 

We started for Dr. Thorpe’s the next morning early. My 
Father mispronoimced his name in several different ways in the 
course of our conversation on the road, and I need hardly add 
that his motive in doing this was to express contempt for his 
fellow creatures generally, by utilizing a particular sample as an 
object of contumely Thorpe is rather a difficult name to mis- 
pronounce, and I fancy he resented this, and it made him more 
determined to succeed in discovering a successful distortion. 

^^Has he a railway-lamp over the door?” said I. 

This here Dr. Thrupp,” said he. May be yes, may be no ! 
It’s accordin’.” 

Has he two whopping big bottles of blue and red medicine in 
the winder ? ” I further asked. I was thinking of the shop Mr. 
Gunn had been taken into to have his eye adjusted. 

^‘Who? Dr. Crupp or whatever his name is? He ain’t got a 
shop. It’s a Wilier. What’s a Wilier? It’s a ’ouse with a stables 
for a one-’orse-shay, and a green’us and a gardener and some 
scarlet geeraniums! And what’s geeraniums? Well — geerani- 
ums is what they sells on the barrers. And what’s a green’us? 
Well, it’s glass, and there’s a grapewine in it, and it’s where they 
shoves the garden pump away when not in use, — which is mighty 
seldom, as it’s always out of order. And that’s enough for any 
young nipper to know at one go-off.” 

I was greedy of knowledge, and resented these small instal- 
ments. But I accepted my Father’s broad hint, and was silent. 
Nevertheless, my mind was seriously exercised by the enquiry why 
people should harbour garden-pumps that were always out of 
order. Could no remedy be found for such an unsatisfactory 
state of things? After about a mile of road I thought I had done 
my duty by silence, and reopened the subject. ‘‘It isn’t only 
garden-pumps,” said my Father. “ All pumps is alike. Always 

35 


86 


JOSEPH VANCE 


out of order they are! They all goes out of order if you stop 
pumpin’ for ’arf-an-hour.” 

“ Then you have to keep on pumping,” said 1. That’s about 
it,” said my Father. I need not say I felt rather unhappy at 
this, as it seemed to consign so many slaves to the pump-handle 
for life. But v^e were just arriving at Dr. Thorpe’s. 

“ Let’s see ! ” said my Father, “ what did your Mother say this 
here Doctor’s name was?” 

‘‘You’ve got his card in your weskit pocket, buttoned in,” 
said I. 

“ Coorse I have! Sharp nipper!” And my Father got out 
the card. He gave a very slight snort and nod of disparagement, 
as if he had identified Dr. Thorpe as a public character of 
opposite politics. And this brought us to the gate of Poplar 
Villa. 

“ Now which of these gates do they expect us to go in at? ” said 
my Father. For Poplar Villa had two, one to let carriages into 
the semicircular gravel road in front of the house, the other to 
let them out. “ If we’d ’a’ drove here in our own broom, I should 
’a’ said the left, so as to git out on the left after the coachman ’d 
rang the bell at the top of all them steps. But bein’ as it were 
out already, we may go in orposite to the carriage company, and 
ring the side bell.” Which we did, with the result that we 
were asked by a young lady with a cap and a clean print dress 
with large round brown spots all over it whether we were the man 
for the drains. As we were, or were at any rate the man and boy, 
we entered, on condition that the boy wiped his feet, which he 
forthwith did much longer than was necessary, from a sense of 
duty, — and to rise to the occasion. 

A good many things then occurred outside the range of my 
experience. It transpired that the Master was in his study and 
mustn’t be worrited; but that a lady whose name I didn’t catch 
would attend shortly to give directions. This was confirmed by 
a real young lady (I had never seen one at home before) who 
said from the end of a passage that Aunt would come in a 
minute. I wondered whether all young ladies at home were beings 
as glorious and enthralling as this one, and thought how jolly it 
must be if they were. She seemed about fifteen, and had her 
apron or skirt full of apples or pears. I found after they were 
early pears, and that they were being stewed. I have since smelt 
stewing pears, and the smell always brings back this young lady 
passing through a streak of morning sun that got in at the edge of 
the yellow blind behind her. If I had been older I should have 


JOSEPH VANCE 


37 


fallen desperately in love, but I was too young to know how to do 
that; so I did the nearest approach to it that I was capable of, 
which consisted mainly of substituting expectation of her next 
appearance for every other possible anticipation in life. I forgot 
discomfort about the imperfections of pumps. My feeling was 
one of thirst for a second dose of a girl standing in a sun-glint at 
the end of a passage, mixed with self-gratulation of having found 
anything so jolly to tell Mother about. 

I was roused to mundane events by the rustle of important 
skirts descending the stairs. They were on an elderly lady of 
what I have since learned to call a genteel appearance. She was 
silver-grey all over — perhaps her dress was an Irish Poplin — and 
she had a pince-nez, through which she looked at my Father as 
if he were a thousand miles off (though we were really quite 
close) and said (exactly as though he couldnT hear her), “ Is this 
the man?” and then, when satisfied on this point, “Is this the 
man’s boy?” meaning me. 

The impression I had of this interview (so far as I could 
be said to receive any impression after the collision of my per- 
ceptions with the vision at the end of the passage) was that this 
excellent lady never addressed my Father all the time, but spoke 
of him to space as “ the Man,” and he for his part replied direct. 
His answers without her questions will give the whole substance 
of the dialogue. 

“ Certainly, Marm ! Any Bricklayin’ work. Carpenterin’, Plumb- 
in’, and Glazin’. Any work connected with the Buildin’ Trades I 
undertake to execute to your entire satisfaction.” 

“ Touchin’ charges, Marm, and replying to your enquiry, my 
charges is always strictly according to work done, time and 
materials. And I should look forward ’opefully to submittin’ an 
account to your entire satisfaction.” 

If any reference required, on account of steadiness and 
sobriety, our Minister, the Rev. Benaiah Capstick, would I am 
sure be to your entire satisfaction.” 

“But in these respects all the years I’ve been in the Buildin’ 
line, I have had the good fortune always to give my Employers 
Entire Satisfaction.” 

In a certain sense this was true, as there had been no Employers. 
I was recovering (by the time my Father reached this verse of 
the Litany above quoted) from the effects of the young lady, 
and I resolved to tackle my Father on the point at the next 
opportunity. At the risk of getting involved in a complicated 
paixture of Mr. Capstick’s I decided to try and find out whether 


38 


JOSEPH VANCE 


the entire satisfaction of a non-existent Employer with the drink 
and strong language of a person he was by nature unqualified to 
employ, was really any better a testimonial to virtue than hi« 
entire dissatisfaction would have been had he had the misfor- 
tune to exist. 

The silver-grey lady decided, and mentioned to the Universe, 
that the Man appeared steady and sober. It then eventuated 
that the Man went up into “ the Nursery ” to look at the bricks 
in the chimney which were alleged to be making it smoke. 

This was a mere lever-de-rideau — the principal stage business 
of the day being an examination of the Drains under the guidance 
of Dr. Thorpe; who I already foresaw, by some mysterious in- 
stinct, would be grossly ignorant on the subject, and but as wax 
in my Father’s hands. 

I remained downstairs in what I began to realize was *‘the 
Pantry,” standing first on one of The Boy’s legs and then on the 
other, till I was overwhelmed by the frightful suddenness of the 
reappearance of the young lady, — ^her very self, hair and all! 
And it was such pretty hair — only the lock on her forehead on 
the left side would get loose and drop over her very long eye- 
lashes. And then it evidently tickled and had to be put back. 
She didn’t seem the least embarrassed with her own existence or 
mine. But she appeared to be obsessed by a very minute child of 
about two, who required to be kept in check continually, or his 
original sinfulness got the better of him. His name was revealed 
as Joey, which struck me then as very curious, seeing that I was 
Joey! It really wasn’t curious, as I have seen since, bi4^ suppose 
Joeys happened to be scarce in our circle. He was a chubby littlii 
boy with very pale eyes and hair, rather as if he had been boiled. 
He was intensely voluble, and I heard him afar, before the Vision 
burst upon me a second time, causing me to collapse, like the 
Apostle in pictures of the Conversion of St. Paul. What follows 
consists of his remarks as soon as they became audible, sand- 
wiched with those of the young lady. It is fifty years ago now, 
but I remember every word. 

*^1 wants to go up that ladder.” 

“ Come off my skirts, you little Plague, I shan’t have a gather 
left.” 

“But I wants to go up the ladder — and if I may go to th% 
vethy top I’ll eat none.” 

“ And how many will you eat, you shocking boy (kiss), if I lot 
you go up one step and hold you?” 

“Thumb” (reluctantly and evasively). 


JOSEPH VANCE 


39 


Say some ! You know perfectly well you^re not to have any, 
especially after all the scum of that stew youVe been having. 
You know perfectly well you’ve got a stomach-ache, if you’d only 
confers it.” 

“ Who’th that Boy ? I want’th to know who that Boy is ? ” 

“ Don’t be rude and point — of course that’s the Man’s Boy. 
Come and speak to him.” 

“ Whath your name ? My name’s J oey. Her name’s Lotthie. 
She’s my thithter. I’ve got another thithter upstairs. I’ve got a 
bruwer. I’ve got a horse, only the mane’s sticked on wiv’ glue^ 
and to-morrow I’m to have it back.” 

He appears a very nice little Boy, with blue eyes and little 
square legs. How old are you, dear? Eight yesterday! I didn’t 
think you were so much. But you’re not too old to be kissed! 
He looks quite clean and I shall kiss him.” 

Which she did. The lock of hair got loose and tickled my 
right cheek. I can feel it now. 

Did I go to school? No, I didn’t. Did I know how to read? 
Yes, I did. Father said I was a regular dab at it. Who taught 
me? Why, Mother, o’ coorse! She could read beautiful. What 
books did I read? The Boyble, and Mr. Capstick’s Tracts, and 
‘‘Robinson Crusoe.” Which did I like best? The Boyble and 
“ Robinson Crusoe.” And of these two last which did I like best f 
I demurred, being afraid of ulterior consequences if I placed 
“ Robinson Crusoe ” above the Bible. I suggested my religious 
scruples i|j the ear that came down (with the hair off it) to meet 
my stutter^ whispers, and the mouth that belonged to the ear 
broke into a laugh that filled the whole place, and engaged the 
curiosity of a carrot-scraping cook, who remarked that Miss 
Lossic was having her fun with the Man’s Boy, to a bootblack and 
whistler, in a dim unexplored back-region. What was Miss Lossie 
a-laughin’ right out like that about? Why, because the Man’s 
Boy was afraid that, if he liked “Robinson Crusoe” better than 
the Bible, he would go to a place which Joseph knew very well he 
was not to say, as he did the other day before Company. But 
the Man’s Boy really did like “ Robinson Crusoe ” best, didn’t 
he? Well — ^he did — but chiefly because of a suspicion that though 
Mr. Capstick hadn’t himself written the Bible, he had got him- 
self worked into it surreptitiously since its first publication, and 
had given it a Capstickian flavour. And what did I say my 
name was? I said, “ Joey, Miss; ” — and Miss Lossie said, “ Say it 
again, dear — I can’t hear. Joey, don’t howl when you jump! 
Jump, but don’t howl.” — For Master Joseph had invented a new 


40 


JOSEPH VANCE 


form of riot which impeded communications. I gave my name 
again, and Miss Lossie said then there were a couple of Joeys. 
And I said, Yes, please. Miss,” to apologize for possible 
intrusion. 

Then the Cook, who I believe must have been my Guardian 
Angel in disguise, pointed out that Miss Lossie^s Pa was sure to 
be ever so long with the Man over the Drains, because Miss 
Lossie knew what her Pa was; so why shouldn’t Miss Lossie take 
the Boy out in the garden and make him help gather the pears! 
So Miss Lossie did, one Joe in each hand. 

There were plenty of Pears to pick. It must have been a good 
and unusually early crop. There were such crops in those days. 
— The gardener was picking as hard as he could on a ladder, and 
another ladder was occupied by a boy about my own age. But 
I said, “Law, Miss, I don’t want no ladder,” and had my jacket 
off and w'as up in the tree and picking in the twinkling of an 
eye. And the gardener remarked that I seemed a likely young 
chap. 

We picked and picked in the sunshine and pelted the peara 
down on the lawn, because even if they hadn’t been too hard to 
bruise on the soft grass, it wouldn’t have mattered as they were 
to be stewed immediately. — Only I was to take care not to hit 
Miss Violet, who was reading a novel in the shadow on the lawn. 
Miss Violet was older than her sister, and may have been prettier. 
But I took no interest in her at all. 

The boy who was picking was very close to me. We established 
Free-Masonic relations of offensive and defensive alliance against 
males of all ages. But he did justice to his social superiority by 
a certain assumption of patronage, calling me younker. He also 
disclaimed liability to pear-tree service, saying he was only doing 
it for a few minutes and was going away to cricket directly — ob- 
viously a more manly employment. He supposed (but I don’t 
know why) I didn't play cricket. I said. “ the Boys ” allowed me 
to field out a bit, but never let me have an innings. I think he 
inferred that my standard of cricket was low, as he did not pursue 
the subject. 

I heard in the remote distance a discussion of Drains, some- 
times subterranean, sometimes in front of the house, sometimes 
as far off as the garden gates. My Father’s voice husky and 
patronizing — Dr. Thorpe’s voice with the superiority of Educa- 
tion, but deferring to the Judgment of a Practical Man. This 
discussion I thankfully foresaw would be interminable, that is to 
say, would require the intervention of some great force of Nature 


JOSEPH VANCE 


41 


to stop it — ^for instance, luncli. So I picked pears in unspeakable 
happiness, keeping my eyes fixed on Miss Lossie down below, sit- 
ting on the lawn with her hands round her knees and Joey 
hanging on her shoulders. She also was engaged in an inter- 
minable discussion, with her sister, and of this I was unable to 
catch the purport, and only heard her words when they took the 
form of audible remonstrance to Joey, as for instance, Joey, if 
you lick, Anne shall come and fetch you,” or, “Joey, you awful 
child, you’ll have all my hair down,” or “Joey dear, don’t kiss 
me so tight; you’ll get stuck and never come undone.” 

But all good things have an end, and the end of my Paradise 
came with a sudden bell of a dictatorial sort and a “Good gracious, 
it’s luncheon, and I’m not washed!” from Miss Lossie, just as wo 
arrived at the end of our picking. I was afraid I shouldn’t see 
her again, as she ran away so very quick to get washed. As I 
came down the tree I heard her sister say, “ Well, all I say 
is, it’s undignified,” and she replied, “And all 1 say is, I shall 
do exactly whatever I please and consult nobody. So there ! ” 
After which more than American Declaration of Independence 
she ran into the house. 

I found my Father and Dr. Thorpe at the front gate apparently 
on good terms (for which I was thankful, knowing my Father’s 
combative disposition), but registering slight differences of 
opinion about a certain culvert, or barrel drain; concerning which 
the Doctor spoke with as decisive a certainty as if he had crawled 
up it. “ I still think,” said he, “ that the fault is in the old 
barrel-drain.” And my Father replied, “Def errin’ always re- 
speckfly to you. Sir, and always subjick to your correction, I still 
hold as a Practical Man to my opinion — defective trappin’. But 
we will have a thorough examination as arranged on Monday.” 

I felt that my Father’s position as a Metropolitan Builder was 
' beginning to be established. And I was more afraid than ever 
that I shouldn’t see Miss Lossie again, when she ran suddenly 
down the long flight of steps with a very large piece of plum 
cake in her hand for me. She was obviously, when washed, the 
most beautiful thing in heaven or earth. It was simply an indis- 
putable axiom, to be accepted without question by a grateful 
Universe. “ Where was the Boy ? Oh, here I When was the 
Man coming to do the Drains? Oh, good-morning! Monday? 
Then you’ll be sure to bring the Boy. You must make him bring 
the Boy, Papa.” 

Miss Lossie had addressed my Father directly, but she had this 
much of her Aunt in her that when it came to the actual sub- 


42 


JOSEPH VANCE 


1 

( 

stance of the communication to what my Father called a trades- | 
man, it was most fitting to transmit it through an Agent. The ! 
Agent laughed and said, in reply to a tendency to ask leave, 
^‘Whatever my daughter likes. He’s a good hoy, I suppose, and 
doesn’t break things.” My Father enlarged upon the very high I 
development of a capacity for not breaking things which not only | 
I but all my forbears on both sides had attained. He was in- 
terrupted by the appearance of the silver-grey Aunt as a sort of 
Luncheon-Shepherd collecting her flock; and then Miss Lossie 
said, ^‘Good-bye, little Boy! Come on Monday. The cake’s new, 
so don’t stuff it down or you’ll swell up like our Joey.” I was 
nursing a secret hope that I should be kissed again. But this, 

I suppose, was one of the things that would not have been i 
dignified; so Miss Lossie merely took hold of my right hand (that 
had flung the bottle-end at Mr. Gunn), to put the cake in it, and 
vanished to lunch. The long front garden gate I supposed ; 
sympathized with me, for it refused to shut us out until my Father 
resolutely jumped the hasp into the latchet. Then the world be- ' 
came prosaic. i 

My Father lighted his pipe in the shelter of the gate-pier, and 
puffed at it in silence as we started home. ^^I’ll give the little 
Nipper a lift if he’s tired,” said he. But the little Nipper wasn’t 
tired, and shook his head for reply, his mouth being full of cake. • 
The cake was new, but I may mention (in case the reader should 
feel anxious) that I did not swell up, but felt refreshed, and 
grateful for the citron. When I had finished it, and my Father i 
had knocked the ash out of his pipe and blown through it, con- i 
versation ensued — j 

He. — “With respect to this here barrel-drain or culvert, I’m 
remarkin’ that this here Hr. Thorpe never knew no such expres- > 
sions till he borrowed ’em ’orf of me. Consequent, he’s likely ! 
wrong — and there ain’t no culvert, nor yet no drain of any de- 
scription.” I 

I. — “ Miss Lossie’s brother’s name is Joey-— the very little one.” | 
He. — “It’s more than ’arf likely it’s only a lot of old stinkin’ I 
wells, and the nightmen pretendin^ they’d emptied of ’em, and I 
very far from being the case. But the public judges of the effi- 
ciency of the nightman by the quantity of brandy consoomed to 
keep him from faintin’, and bein’ in bed at the time cannot in- 
spect.” 

I. — “ Miss Lossie’s big brother plays cricket. Miss Lossie’s big 
sister reads. Miss Lossie’s father’s gardener is called Samuel.” 

He. — “In coorse in the manner o’ speakin’ cesspools is more 


JOSEPH VANCE 


43 


wholesome, but then main shores and constant supply is good for 
trade, and that we ought to consider. The labourer is worthy 
of his hire, as Capstick says ; so wherefore not give him all possible 
employment ? ” 

I . — “ Miss Lossless Aunt’s name is Isabella and she’s deaf, but 
not very. Miss Lossie’s father isn’t a real Doctor — only pretence.” 

He . — “How the dickens does the young Nipper know that*” 

My statement had recalled my Father from his savoury reverie 
on sewage, and I think it now presented itself to him for the first 
time that Dr. Thorpe did not belong to the Medical Profession. 
1 was unable, and am, still, to say exactly how I knew it, or how 
I knew that Miss Isabella the Aunt was deaf but not very, and so 
forth. But I was convinced of it, and my Father on reflection 
appeared inclined to admit it, saying that p’r’aps Dr. Thorpe was 
a Libery Beggar and took Poopils. Perhaps he was. 

We arrived home very late for one o’clock though rather early 
for three. Mr. Capstick had been on a visit, and was just taking 
his leave. My Father said, “Good-afternoon to you, Sir! Me and 
Mrs. Wance has been sayin’ it was gettin’ on for time for you to 
come round and have a Beal Hidgeous Controversy.” And Mr. 
Capstick replied that vain disputations were contrary to his 
liking, which was a fib on the part of the Bev. Benaiah. My 
Father said, however, he should look forward. And the Bev. de- 
I parted, with benedictions, to my great satisfaction. I launched 
at once into the real business of life. 

‘ “I say. Mother, Miss Lossie she wanted for to know which I 
liked best, Mr. Capstick’s Tracks or Bobinson Crusoe.” 

“ The pound and four ounces of beefsteaks is a-doin’, I’m ’appy 
to smell,” said my Father. 

“I put it on the gridiron the minute I see you get past the 
^Boebuck,” said my Mother, who must have seen us coming some 
"time before we reached the Boebuck. My Father commented and 
my Mother said she would have put it down for that matter as 
soon as ever she see us, only she wasn’t going to have it done 
to a cinder while he was a-soakin’. It would have been just 
exactly ready only for my Father’s ’abits. My Father said with 
a sigh that his Boebucking days were over, but he hoped there 
was something on the shelf. My Mother said there was enough to 
go round. I then felt that progress ought to be made with what 
I considered the Bill before the House, and cut in to the effect 
that Miss Lossie she laughed and told the Cook, and the Cook she 
said go in the garden and pick pears. And my Mother said, 
Whatever is the child lecturin’ about, with his Miss Lossie and 


44 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


Cooks. Go along in and cut the bread, and don’t cut yourself.” 
For cutting the bread at dinner was a valued prerogative of mine. 

My Father indicated a slight preliminary explanation. The 
Nipper’s been a-goin’ into Society, he has,” said he. He seemed 
to imply that he had been kept out of Society, which I felt sorry 
for — ^for I need not repeat how devoted I was to him. But it was 
merely his usual fagon-de-parler. He always, adopted the position 
of injury or grievance. 

“Well, Joey dear, eat your dinner and don’t choke yourself, 
and then tell us all about Society.” 

Meanwhile my Father was enjoying a third and entirely dif- 
ferent aspect of a revelation to be given out or retained — in the 
possibilities of human exasperation afforded by withholding it 
from persons desirous of benefiting. My Mother, however, un- 
derstood his character and let him alone. 

The beefsteak obligingly stood in its gravy on a dish on the 
rack with two handles that pulled out under the fire-grate, while 
my Mother climaxed the potatoes. “We’ll have ’em all hot to- 
gether,” she said. So we had, hut not for long — ^they disappeared 
so quick! So did a suet dumpling, and then at last I was free 
to pour out my treasure at my Mother’s feet. 

It took some time, for I did it all the slower for my anxiety tc 
tell it all at once. This caused retrospection and correction. I 
was very particular about exactly where Miss Lossie had kissed 
me. And when my Mother kissed the place herself, I felt that my 
chubby cheek was a sort of connecting link between my Mother 
and Miss Lossie Thorpe, and was almost equivalent to an intro- 
duction. I suppose if one were to try and concoct rapture with- 
out alloy for a living creature, one could do no better than arrange 
that a child should meet an Angel, or what it thought an Angel, 
and should go home and tell mother. 

“Well, now, Vance,” said my Mother, when at last I stopped 
gabbling and stuttering about Miss Lossie, “you don’t seem to 
have anything to tell us.” 

“No gettin’ in a word between these Miss Looeys,” I under- 
stood him to say. “Here I’ve got to my second pipe, and it’s 
nothin’ but Miss Looey, Miss Looey, Miss Looey.” 

“But you saw Miss Lossie yourself. Father,” I said, suddenly 
plunging onto his knee, and threatening to begin again. — “ Oh, 
yes! He’d seen a tidy sort of larce in a lavender-coloured frock.” 
— ^I nodded violently. — “So now little nippers might sit quiet on 
their Fathers’ knees and let their Mothers hear about Dr. Corpee’e 
drains — ^well ! — Thorpeses, then ! ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


45 


*^Nothin’ much to do, I should say! Just proper attention to 
trappin’ and not sending Niagarrer down the shores every five 
minutes to keep the ’ouse ’elthy, and they’ll do well enough for 
another three year. But there ain’t no sile, not even hereabouts 
where it’s mostly gravel, that can be expected to swallow up all the 
water that an old lady with idears will empt’ down ’em when the 
water supply is practically unrestricted” — (this came in almost 
with the literary force of a classical quotation) — ^^and a old lady 
has no other mortal emply’ment in life.” — (It was Aunt Isabella, 
then, who was to blame for the flavour all through the basement, 
which my Father readily admitted the existence of.) — ^‘But all I 
say is,” he went on, “ that if this here Dr. What’s-his-name insists 
on my takin’ out the ground in his front garden to ’unt for a 
shore that more like than not ain’t there nor anywhere else, I’ll do 
it fast enough, but it ain’t my recommendation as a Practical 
Man, and I wash my ’ands of the Expenses. What I sticks to is 
stop the flushing and see to the traps.” 

“Well, but now, Vance dear,” said my Mother, “you see you 
do know a lot about it I ” 

“ Only just as much as a man is born with when he’s lived 
among tradesmen all his life,” said my Father, who seemed to be 
in some confusion about the period of life at which Birth occurs. 


CHAPTER VI 


SHOWS HOW MR. VANCE OBTAINED CAPITAL AND PLANT. ALSO HOW HE 
CREATED CONFIDENCE. 

The shock to my belief in my Father’s infallibility occasioned 
by the miscarrying of the celebrated Smack was I suppose only 
dtin-deep, for I for my part never had any doubt about his 
qualifications as a Builder. If I had had any latent mistrust of 
his powers it would surely have disappeared in the interval be- 
tween our visit to Poplar Villa and the Monday following, when 
we were due there again for purposes of subterranean explora- 
tion. For I accompanied him on an expedition in search of 
Plant and Materials, about which there was some difficulty 
owing to his enterprise being so far insufficiently capitalized. I 
like this sesquipedalian way of saying one has no money. One 
has none, just the same, but it seems so much easier to bear one’s 
lot ! 

My Father’s genius rode triumphant over all obstacles. First 
we went into a yard where there were all sorts of Builders’ 
Materials, old and new, on sale or hire. Now what would be 
actually wanted for his immediate purpose was obviously a peck, 
a spade, and a barrer. He said so, in fact, on the way. So I 
was surprised when he opened a negotiation for the hire of a 
very long ladder which, fastened against the blank side-waU of a 
house, overtook its chimney-pot and shot high up into the sky 
overhead. Mr. Gubbins, the yard-proprietor, pointed out that this 
ladder was almost a permanency — ^being of use as an announce- 
ment of the business to the four home-counties; and though ofi 
course it could be got down, it would run into Money. Myi 
Father observed that one had to be careful nowadays (this ex-j 
pression he said he had picked up from his grandfather — which 
seemed to annul its force), but pressed to know how much money 
it would run into. Mr. Gubbins named a figure which caused 
him to remark, in effect, that had he been quoting for Jacob’s 
Ladder he couldn’t have gone farther. The subject lapsed and 
the conversation became general. Mr. Gubbins told us that hi« j 
0On Benjamin was a blessing to his parents, and had only yeetor- j 

46 ji 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


47 


Jay run up that very ladder away from his mother, who was going 
to give him what-for, and had refused to come down without 
guarantees that his trousers should remain undusted. “So weVe 
had to lash up a scaffold-board agin it,’’ said Mr. Gubbins, who 
chuckled a good deal at his wife’s expense. “ Not to spile it with 
nails,” he added. For that ladder was evidently the apple of his 
eye. 

My Father then, before going away, enquired how many loads 
I of good stocks were available at short notice ? He made a memo- 
randum on this point, and appeared to have got all he wanted, 
when just as he was leaving he said in a most casual way that 
he had a small repairin’ job down the road, and he would bo 
j sendin’ a young man round Monday mornin’ for a ’arf -bushel 
; of grey lime and a few brick, only he wouldn’t send the truck ’cos 
I it made such a load for the young man to push, as he wanted him 
! to bring a barrer, too, and he could just as easy put the lime and 
brick on the barrer, and run ’em round. I thought I saw sus- 
i picion in Mr. Gubbins’s eye, but my Father was equal to the 
Ijoccasion, adding that he’d “got the address somewhere, had it 
f only this minute. Dr. Thorpe’s, Poplar Villa.” Mr. Gubbina 
had better keep that card, and he himself was going into town this 
(afternoon and would leave word for Dr. Thorpe to send another 
for Mr. G. to know the young man by. Mr. Gubbins knew my 
Father’s place (at least my Father said he did), on the right, past 
the Roebuck. — And to my great impressment Mr. Gubbins actually 
said he knew it well. “ I see your name up often, passing along 
tliat way,” he said. 

i It was a most amazing thing how every one (for even our 
Dustman implied that it must have been there, though he hadn’t 
seen it) accepted this board without question, and even in some 
eases professed to have read it carefully over and over again on 
our doorpost, while it was still forwarding the interests of tlie 
Mr. C. Dance, into whose possession it had come (according to 
my Father) through an error in the spelling. “ In coorse,” he 
said, “ he was justified in using of it — seein’ a Dee is not a Vee, 
put it how you may I But they might as well have done it right 
at first go-oif, for all I see ! ” Anyhow, Mr. Gubbins seemed to 
be completely satisfied the moment it was mentioned, and didn’t 
•uggest the payment of a deposit, or any further form of security. 

But this arrangement, though good as far as it went, only 
provided such Plant and Materials as can be got on hire at a 
Mr. Gubbins’s. It did not include tools. 

And this evidently occasioned my Father serious anxiety. I 


JOSEPH VANCE 


4B 

think he was even now proposing to himself a blank writing 
form with Christopher Vance, Builder, and his address at the* 
top, and even the expression ‘‘Memorandum”! But he was! 
most reluctant to impair the power these would give as a handle 
for Credit, by paying Cash for small purchases just as if he were 
insolvent. — “ No, Joey,” said he, “ when a chap thinks you know 
he believes in your solvency, don^t you undeceive him by orfer- 
ing him cash. Then he’ll know you think he believes you insol- 
vent, and never give a brass farden o’ credit. ’Cos you wouldn’t 
think any man would b’lieve you insolvent if you knowed you was 
in funds. Hay, Joey?” 

I felt this might rank as a complicated mixture, though scarcely 
one of Mr. Capstick’s. But I replied to my Father’s last question 
that I had got the idear. I thought, however, that there being no 
cash to pay with might have something to do with my Father’s 
objection to paying. 

We were then working slowly down the main road, my hand in 
my Father’s. The sun was thinking about setting, and hesitating 
to do so as it was really almost too fine an evening to go to bed 
A band of men were just turning off the railway after a spell oi 
overtime, and seemed to have taken umbrage at their employers 
My Father entered into conversation, and the young man he 
addressed said, “ Eight you are, mate, it’s always the way. Om 
minute you’re workin’ ten hours overtime. Next minute cui 
down to nothing! Next minute overtime again worse than ever.’. 
He explained that in pursuance of this system two hundred were 
to be sacked off the job on Saturday. So the figures were figura-i 
tive. My Father sympathized deeply, and assented to all th^ 
accusations levelled against Eailway Contractors, though I anc 
sure some of them could not have been universally true. He die 
this without echoing the “language” these young men called them 
I think out of consideration for the Nipper. But I ought, ir 
justice to my Father, to say that he always admitted transgressior 
in respect of his use of bad language, and indeed drew a verj 
sharp line as to how far he went. Perhaps the upper-middk 
class does not fully appreciate the nice distinctions that exist or 
this point in the lower-middle class in England. They are real 
nevertheless. 

Just as we were parting from the young man, my Father sug 
gested that while they shared a pint he would have time to thinl 
of whether he couldn’t find a small job for him to keep his ’an< 
in. — I was glad it wasn’t a quart, after experience. — It was shared 
and my Fa^er then revealed the thought be had had time for. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


49 


*Tou might look round at my job at Poplar Wilier — Dr. 
Thorpe’s — in the ’Igh Road to Town. Monday mornin’, about 
ught. You might bring round a peck and a shovel.” The young 
nan explained that he hadn’t got one by him — the railway con- 
:ractors had provided their own. So my Father said, ^‘Well, he 
lidn’t want him to have to come all the way down to his place 
)ast the Roebuck and then back, only for a peck and shovel — so let 
lim see! Well, he might look in on the way at Nichollses, not 
dee-phraim Nichollses, but Jack Nichollses along on the right — 
hear the Fire-Ingins — ^you know him?” The young man did. 
It was quite wonderful how many people knew other people! 
^‘Well,” said my Father, “you mention my name — Christopher 
Wance — along the road past the Roebuck, and I’ll venture to say 
he’ll accommodate you so far as a peek and a shovel.” 

And my Father paid honourably for the pint, and we started for 
home. 


CHAPTEK Vn 


CONCERNING A BARREL-DRAIN WHICH DID NOT EXIST. OF REPAIRS TO 
THE NURSERY CHIMNEY AND HOW JOE WENT UP IT. ALSO WHAf 
A GOOD WASHING HE HAD. 

It is told of Calverley that he had a delight in jumping ovei 
walls if he didn’t know what was on the other side. Jack 
Nicholls must have been like him, for he seemed to have concede^ 
the peck and shovel almost without digesting the testimonials of 
his applicant. — “ Never seen him — seen his Board many’s th«- 
time,” was the young man’s report of Mr. Nicholls’s half of tho 
interview, when he met us at the gate of Poplar Villa on Monday ] 
I told him it was all right,” said the young man, whose name : 
was Bill but nothing further, and he said I could take ’em.” I 
And there they were, sure enough ! ; 

I hope you observe that Jack Nicholls accepted Bill’s warrant 
for my Father, Bill having acquired status by tendering my i 
Father’s warrant for himself ! It was like Baron Munchausen’s 
descent from the Moon; when, having slipped down the rope as 
far as he could go, he made use of the now useless upper half 
of the rope ” to carry him a stage lower and so on till he reached 
the Earth. 

The Libery Beggar was at breakfast, but would come out to 
speak to the Man before he retired into his Libery, or shell. I 
clearly saw that my Father’s deference to Dr. Thorpe was the 
basest opportunism, and that he was not without a hope that an 
overweening assumption of Drain Lore might betray his employer 
into a disruption of the foundation of Poplar Villa in search for a 
non-existent barrel-drain. It showed (I thought) his knowledge of 
mankind that he took up again his position of respectful resistance 
to the Doctor’s opinions. It established him as an unselfish pro- 
tector of the latter from needless outlay, but at the same time exas- 
perated his amour propre, and stimulated his self-confidence by 
opposition. Dr. Thorpe’s will was my Father’s Law — that it was 
needless for him to say I And this young man would start at once if 
the Doctor said the word. ^ But,” said my F ather, if you ask 
mo, aa a Practical Man, my opinion is — no shore! And, if cess- 


50 


JOSEPH VANCE 


51 


pools, I should advise the adjestment of the trapping and keepin’ 
back of the water, and very shortly the flaviour complained of 
will subside spontaneous.” But Dr. Thorpe’s back was up, and 
he insisted on penetrating the bowels of tlie earth. take all 
responsibility on my own shoulders, Mr. Vance,” he said — “you 
do very rightly to try to protect me from all expenses that can 
be avoided, but in this case I prefer to incur some extra outlay 
to go to the bottom of the matter.” 

So my Father, who desired nothing better, assented with seem- 
ing reluctance to take up about six foot of ground on the semi- 
circular carriage drive; which was sure, he said, to strike on the 
drain and at the same time avoid taking up the airey and dis- 
turbing too near the house. And at a signal from him, the young 
man. Bill, who had been standing with his hands open in front 
of him as if he had been telling his own fortune by Palmistry, 
spat suddenly upon them, and seizing a peck, or pick, began to 
work as though it was a siege, and these were the entrenchments. 
And then my Father said that if no wise ill-convenient he could 
attend now to that little matter in the Nursery while his young 
man got the bit of ground out. 

I felt that my hour was coming now. The superiority of Miss 
Lossie to every earthly thing was certainly shown by the fact that 
she was a force that could make a small boy of eight glad to for- 
sake the intoxicating delights of the taking out of ground with- 
out a regret. For Excavation, whether it be for shores, for 
treasure, or for papyri and mummies, is an absorbing and thrill- 
ing interest almost without a parallel. It is usually also harmless, 
and this cannot be said of Vivisection or War, or Gambling on 
the Stock Exchange. In this case if it had not been for expecta- 
tion of seeing Miss Lossie, I should have hung lovingly over that 
hole watching the young man. Bill, putting his back into it, as 
my Father had told him to do. As it was, I was more than con- 
tent to follow my Father up to the Nursery, carrying one or two 
minor tools that he had contrived to provide. He himself carried 
upstairs a ’arf a bag of Sto’rbridge clay, and a little board with a 
handle sticking straight out underneath. This was for wet clay. 

Miss Lossie wasn’t in the Nursery, and I was sorry. 

“V/ill the Man make a mess?”— It was Miss Isabella, the silver- 
grey Aunt, who spoke. — And my Father replied, abasing himself 
duly, “ There won’t go any particular mess, Marm, not with taking 
out these few brick, but if such a thing was ’andy as a piece of 
canwas or box-cloth, for underfoot, why, perhaps we shbuldn’t be 
any the worse off in the end.” 


52 


JOSEPH VANCE 


It took time to interpret this to Miss Isabella, whose deafness 
seemed to me to go beyond not very.” When success crowned 
the efforts of the Nurse, Anne, Miss Isabella said, Well — ^you 
needn^t shout, — I can hear,’^^||j3ut sanctioned the box-cloth out of 
the lumber-room, only it must be shaken. It arrived in due 
course, and my Father proceeded to dislocate the register in order 
to get at the bricks that had fallen forward in the chimney above. 
He showed some amount of ill-temper bemuse of the difficulty of 
doing this, and said that these here regmers was always out of 
order, there was no doing anything with them! And a voice said, 
‘^Thaffs a very common complaint against registers, Mr. Vance. — 
And here’s the Boy! And he has such pretty blue eyes I should 
kiss him again, only he’s such a little grubby Pigmuddle! But 
come and say good-morning. Master Vance. Because I suppose 
you are Master Vance.” I looked at my Father to see if I was, 
not precisely knowing, and he gave a qualified assent. Wance — 
christened Joey — ^p’r’aps I should say Joseph.” — And Miss Lossie 
said of course i wasn’t christened Master! ‘‘He’s as black as 
any Sweep,” she went on; and I shuddered as memory rankled, 
“ and he’s coming all off on my hands,” she added. 

“You go a mile off, Joey, till you’ve done with the soot, and 
then you shall be washed and come quite close to, as Anne says, 
and see Picture Books.” And the other Joey, who of course was 
hooked on to Miss Lossie, added, “Wiv’ Sips, and sailors falling 
out of them by ax’nent, and helephants, and Fenchmen bein’ 
killed on ballicades.” — Of course I didn’t know what barricades 
were. But I knew that Foreigners had been going on in their 
usual benighted way, and looked forward to pictures of them. 

Pictures, however, and everything else were impossible while 
this banging went op. This was the cutting out of some brick 
to get a good key, my Father said. We shouldn’t be a minute, he 
said — nor were we. We were about fifteen. But the Public was 
grateful when we did stop ; and said through Anne, the nurse, as a 
mouthpiece, that it was one good job that was done, and then 
graciously attended to my Father’s request for a pail of water. 
“There won’t be no more noise, not to call noise,” said he, 
“ cleanin’ off these few brick for to go back where they come from, 
bein’ the mortar’s perished with the heat. On which accounts 
I say a little St’orbridge, though a few pence more at the first go- 
off, is an economy in the end, put it how you may.” And my 
Father mixed his St’orbridge on the hearthstone, and dwelt on the 
great advantages of economy and foresight in the Building line. 

A crisis occurred, however, before the job was completed and 


JOSEPH VANCE 


63 


the register replaced. The topmost two bricks, which had fallen 
forward and checked the draught, had, of course, come out very 
easily. But for a man with very broad shoulders to get far 
enough up the chimney to replace them was another matter. My 
Father had struggled gallantly with his difficulties so far, and 
really had got almost as black as Mr. Peter Gunn, but as he said 
one had to dror^ a line. At this point I struck in, suggesting 
that my Father should h’iste me up the chimbley; should then just 
shove a little SPorbridge on each brick; should then shove it up 
to me, who would then make nothing of shoving of it into its 
place. My Father said, “Sharp Nipper! So you can! We’ll 
just orfer ’em in first, a brick at a time.” And he was just going 
to hoist me up as proposed when he was pounced upon by an un- 
foreseen Philanthropist in the person of Miss Isabella, who inter- 
dicted the employment of Climbing Boys. “ No, my dear Ran- 
dall,” she said to the Doctor, who came in at this moment to 
inspect progress. “ Not in this house while I am here ! I will not 
permit it.” 

The Doctor. — “ Permit what, Isabella ? ” 

She. — “ Sweep’s Climbing Boys. The Man wishes to put his 
son up the Chimney ” 

The Doctor. — “ Hm-m-m-m ! ” 

My Father. — “ Asking your pardon for interruptin’ you, Marm, 
by no means without yours and the Doctor’s consent, giv’ freely, 
though my own son ” 

The Doctor. — “Can’t you manage without, Vance?” 

F. — “Well, Sir, you see, it’s just like this. It’s the matter of 
two or three brick, or maybe two brick and a bat, or two brick 
and a bat and a closure ” 

Dr. T. — “ In fact of very little work ? ” 

F. — “ Precisely as you put it. Sir. And bein’ as I myself am 
rather big, and liable to jam in the narrer space, this here little 
Nipper (a name I call him by, Marm) says, says he, ‘You ’and me 
in the bricks, and I’ll shove ’em in their places,’ he says. And I 
was a-thinking of it over like when this good lady come in.” 

Miss I. — “No! — The Man was not. The Man was going to put 
the Boy up the chimney.” 

Miss L. (coming in with an armful of books). — “What’s the 
row. Aunty? Of course the Boy mustn’t go up the chimney! 
He’s black enough already. The idea ! ” 

Dr. T. — “How far up the chimney would he be, Vance?” 

Miss A.— “ Yes— J oey— t’other J oey ! How far up would you be ? ” 

Myself. — “ Please, Miss Lossie, only this far ! ” And before I 


54 


JOSEPH VANCE 


be stopped I was up standing on the hob with my head in 
the flue. I heard Miss Lossie’s musical laugh ring out all over 
the place, and Anne say I was a likely young chap, as the gardener 
had said. They all seemed agreed about my probability. 

Anyhow, my dear Isabella,” said the Doctor, The Boy is up 
the chimney now, and perhaps we had better accept the situation. 
Unless you are prepared to pull him down by the legs ” 

Aunt Isabella said she had been set at naught, but had done 
her duty. Miss Lossie said Anne was to wash the Boy carefully 
when he came out, as he was then to come and look at pictures 
with their Joey. Their Joey thrust in a stipulation that these 
pictures should include Sips on Fire, and Sips on Wocks, and 
otlier tragic or murderous incidents. 

I was very black, no doubt, when I emerged from that flue, 
though Anne the Nurse’s estimate of the quantity of soap re- 
quired was absurd. She said a bar of yellow soap wouldn’t be 
enough, Anne was a bony woman of strong character, for she 
declined to let me wash myself, and soaped me with a vigour far 
beyond any experience of washing I had ever had up to that 
date. My method had been Catlicking, she said. And, indeed, 
I do think that the practice of applying to the skin a very small 
quantity of soap as a lubricant, and then polishing with violence, 
is not so effective as the creation of a good Farther, and coaxing 
it round, greasy-like! I borrow some of my description from 
Anne. Of course in the polishing business economy is attained, 
and The Soap, by which phrase I indicate the piece of soap cur- 
rent in one family or community, goes a deal farther. One has 
to be born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth if one is going to 
admit the expenditure on one small boy of the amount of soap 
Anne bestowed upon me. 

A short colloquy with Miss Lossie in an adjoining room, while 
I was towelling myself, led to the reappearance of Anne with a 
beautiful blue woollen shirt, which Master Oliver, it would seem, 
had outgrown, and which it would be four or five years before 
Master Joey was big enough. I prefer to adhere to Anne’s syn- 
tax. I put this on gratefully; but carefully rolled up my own 
and stuffed it in my coat pocket, that Dr. Thorpe’s household 
should not be embarrassed by it. 


CHAPTEK VIII 


HOW J 0r HAD MISS LOSSIE’s ARM ROUND HIM WHILE HE SAW BOOKS. 

MISP VIOLET CORRECTS HER SISTER. MISS LOSSIE’s TONGUE. HOW 

JOE WENT HOME, AND HEARD FROM PORKY OF THE BEAK. HOW MR. 

VANCE HAS ANOTHER JOB, ALL DUE TO THE MAGIC BOARD. 

The choking feeling which, do what I may, will come into my 
throat as I think of the intensely happy hour I then passed look- 
ing at pictures, quite close to Miss Lossie, with the other Joe on 
her other side, only interferes with my narrative; and the reader, 
if young, will not understand it. I have only to wait a minute and 
it disappears, and with it all my present surroundings as I write, 
and all the long half-century between, and I am back again in 
the Nursery at Poplar Villa, with the September sun streaming 
through the windows, and Miss Violet reading one of the books 
Miss Lossie had got at Mudie’s in Southampton Row when she 
went to town yesterday afternoon. And Master Joseph chatter- 
ing rapid and predominant commentaries on the pictures before 
us, and life in general. And then it all becomes so real that 
when the Water comes in (as it does suddenly in my recollection) 
I can almost absolutely hear through the open door the gasping 
and gurgling of that practically unlimited supply before it settles 
down to a continuous reproachful roar. And then my memory 
of Anne shuts my memory of that door, by request, to keep that 
awful noise out, and the memory of the roar becomes a memory 
pf a murmur. 

I wants first to see Sips on Fire,’’ said the other Joey. " No, 
I dothn’t — I wants first to see black men pellishing.” 

“Now which do you really want, you awful boy?” 

“Athk the other Boy, that Boy there,” pointing at me as if I 
was on the horizon. 

“Well, Joey Vance, which shall we have first? Ships on Fire, 
or Black men perishing by Thousands ? ” 

I said Ships on Fire. They were produced and gave great 
satisfaction. But Master Joseph required, in addition to the 
picture, a consecutive narrative of the Battle of Trafalgar, which 
had to coincide exactly with previous narratives. If it did not, 

55 


66 


JOSEPH VANCE 


he immediately pounced, with ‘‘You thed Captain Toobridge 
before ” or “ You thed shooted wiv^ cannonballs before ” or some 
such correction. However, we got through the story in time, and 
left Nelson dying on the quarter-deck. But by the time this was 
done. Master Joseph had ceased to long for Black Men Perishing 
by Thousands, which I had anticipated with pleasure, and de- 
manded the Barricades of Paris. However, it didnT much 
matter, where all was too good to be true, especially Miss Lossie. 

This young lady contrived to keep up a conversation with her 
sister in spite of the severe demands of Master Joseph and myself. 
And this conversation seemed to be divisible into two distinct 
halves, the one having an absolutely public character and the 
other consisting of subordinated telegraphic remarks of a per- 
sonal sort. 

I could show this clearly in printing by the introduction of two 
different types. But as I have not any intention of availing my- 
self of that resource, I will give the conversation consecutively as 
nearly as I recollect it — 

V. — “Well ! — Aunt may say what she likes, but I do not see, and 
never shall see, how people are to drive up to the door on Thurs- 
day if the whole place is to be dug up for drains. — Your haiPs 
coming down — stick it up with this.” 

L. — “Well, but Joey Vance’s Papa is going to attend to that. 
Thankee, dear, you’re a good little sister at times, though snappy. 
Isn’t he, t’other Joey?” 

Me. — “ Yes — Miss Lossie.” 

L. — “And you know. Pa isn’t a downright fool. Besides, how 
can it matter to you, when you say you won’t come downstairs ? ” 

V . — If those odious Shuckford Smiths are coming, you know 
perfectly well I shan’t. — As if you didn’t know what Miss Shuck- 
ford Smith’s half-sister called you! But even if Pa was the very 
cleverest F. R. S. of the whole lot, I don’t see how carriages could 
drive up to the door with all the Drains up ” 

L. — “ They won’t have to, Vicey dear I What did Miss Shuck- 
ford Smith’s half-sister call me? Because you know there’s to 
be nothing serious done to the drains till we go to Herne Bay.” 

V. — Anyhow, Lossie dear, you may talk till you’re hoarse, but 
every one knows what Papa is, and that he’s perfectly capable of 
making the whole front garden into holes and heaps. A Piece 
of Goods! You know you knew that as well as I did ” 

L. — “Yes — Joey darling — I’ll draw you a very fat man being 
shooted. I don’t see that it signifies if she did call me a Piece of 
Goods ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


67 


V. — Yes — but what becomes of one’s dignity, I should like to 
know, if one goes downstairs and speaks to the family after Miss 
Shuckford Smith’s or anybody’s half-sister has called one’s sister 
a Piece of Goods. And as for Herne Bay, detestable place, I hope 
we shall go somewhere else. Not really that it much matters, for 
wherever we go I suppose you’ll go pounding and floundering 
about without your sunshade and getting pitch-black all over.” 

Miss Violet gave for a minute a closer attention to the book 
from Mudie’s which she had been more or less reading the whole 
time. But she was not long in abeyance. She suddenly un- 
masked a Battery, the ammunition of which may be said to have 
been provided in her last remark. 

^‘Anyhow,” she said, ‘^it’s to be hoped you don’t mean to go 
about with your tongue hanging out like a little dog. There’s 
the Bell!” 

There it certainly was — and the hour was over! I had paid 
very little attention to the Pictures, for I scarcely took my eyes 
off Miss Lossie. It had been decreed that I should have plenty 
to eat in the kitchen; so I adjourned with Anne. 

I must not forget to explain about the little dog. Miss Lossie, 
in the effort of artistic creation she had been called on for, had 
certainly made her tongue visible, but only as a small kitten some- 
times does, showing a little red spot between closed lips. She 
paid no attention to her sister’s gun-practice, and went on putting 
in additional military men to shoot the very fat man. But Master 
Joey took up the matter, and put the tongue back, and pinched the 
lips over it with his fat little fingers. And Miss Lossie kissed him 
a good deal, and said, ‘‘You little Ducky.” — Now I thought his 
conduct presumptuous and ruffianly. 

I suppose I was very hungry after all my bricklaying exertions 
and unaccustomed ablutions and excitements; for the only two 
things I remember are the dinner itself and a report that came 
from the Dining-Koom that Miss Violet had said that she should 
go and eat her lunch in the nursery, if they were going to talk 
about drains all dinner time. Our informant, the House-Par- 
lourmaid, hoped she didn’t expect her to carry the pudding up- 
stairs and bring it down again for other people’s second helpings 
afterwards, that was all! I felt the name of this young woman’s 
office was oppressively long. However, her own was Betsy, and 
that made up for it. 

I had been very silent throughout, merely secreting plums of 
event to be reproduced for my Mother later — and of course devour- 
ing Miss Lossie, whose left hand went round my head at intervals 


58 


JOSEPH VANCE 


and pinched my left cheek; rather I thought to the disgust of 
Miss Violet. Did I, I wonder, actually hear the expression 
^Wulgar little hoy” or was it some wandering brain- wave? No — 
I am afraid Miss Violet did call me a vulgar little boy. 

I rejoined my Father in the front garden after this experience, 
and my Father said he’d been wondering what had become of the 
Nipper. I replied, Oy say. Father, oy got such a Fizzing new 
shirt. Miss Lossie she said give me one of Master Oliver’s.” He 
hoped I had said thankee, as dooty bound; and I nodded my head 
rapidly with my lips tight shut, which was rather a habit of mine. 
He then distinguished that such beautiful clean young Masters 
wasn’t for the likes of him and William (normally Bill), and 
drains was drains all the world over, while on the other hand 
clean shirts were clean shirts; and that in order to keep their 
spheres of influence separate, young Nippers might just as well 
cut off home to their Mothers, and tell them that their Fathers 
would be ’arf-an-hour late to tea. 

William said, ‘‘Right you are. Master,” and resumed work, 
which now appeared to be filling in the six foot of ground which 
had been taken out in the morning. I inferred that my Father 
had been right about the culvert or barrel-drain, and that Dr. 
Thorpe would have to pay for being satisfied of its non-existence. 

My Father was more than half-an-hour late to tea — ^more than 
an hour and a half; and I was not sorry, as it gave me more 
time to place the subject of Miss Lossie in all possible lights 
before my Mother. It also gave margin for an interview with 
Porky Owls, whom I had scarcely seen since the day at the Police- 
Court. This interview took the form of a game at Peg-in-the- 
Ring; a glorious game when you’ve got a piece of soft whip-cord, 
well wore but not wore out. The nickname of Porky, by the way, 
originated in this game, its bearer having been “ christened ” by 
it after the pieces of Bacon or split tops which are the coveted 
prizes of the players. Porky’s pockets always teemed with them. 
He was a great Master and always gave me odds, usually winning 
back his own Bacon, and some of mine as well. On this occasion 
the conversation went naturally back to the Police-Court, where 
Porky had contrived to insert himself to study Mankind, and 
provide himself with gossip, of which indeed his mind was as 
full as his pockets were of Bacon. 

“ I heard that Beak talking about you,” said he, “ an’ he giv’ out 
that he b’lieved all you said, only he warn’t going to have it 
Evidence, ’cos he warn’t sweet on Gunn, and provocation might 
have ensoo’d and then it might have got him off being sent for 


JOSEPH VANCE 59 

trial and hanged for manslaughter if your Guv’nor was to kick 
up. Accordin’ as the Inquest.” 

Down went Porky’s top with a whizz, and striking with deadly 
accuracy in the little heap of Bacon in the centre of the ring, 
sent most of it flying outside the circumference. When he had 
recovered his winnings he resumed the Magistrate. 

“’Cos, o’ coorse — he says — the Coroner’s inquest may say Gunn 
done it, or they may find a werdict to the efleck that the Pris~ 
oner was killed in a Prize Fight and there was no means o’ 
knowin’ how he came by his end. But anyhow, he says, the 
Boy’s Evidence goes to prove provocation of an obstrusive nature 
on Vance’s part, and when a boy says he’ll go to heaven for tell- 
ing lies, he says, why o’ coorse you reject his Evidence, no mat- 
ter how much you believe it. So if it goes to trial, he says, I 
hope they’ll swaller down the wink I tipped ’em, and reject the 
Boy’s Evidence. But he was a most truthful little Boy, he says, 
and very intelligent. — My turn ! ” And down came the top again. 
“ Arter the Court this was, and he was a-goin’ out to lunch with 
a loydy, and I overheared their conversation at the cabstang while 
the clorths was took off.” 

As soon as Porky had won all my Bacon, I returned home to 
my Mother and found my Father wasn’t quite home yet. She 
suggested that I should run up the road to head him ofl from the 
Roebuck, which I did, but found he had already passed it; and 
though he claimed to be morally entitled to at least half-a-pint 
for resisting temptation, he didn’t go back to get it. Indeed, the 
change in my Father — obviously the result of that Magic Board — 
was most remarkable. It stimulated a healthy self-respect, not 
to say an inflated egotism. As we came up to the door he 
looked at it with intense satisfaction; — “ C. Vance, Builder — 
Repairs,” said he, ^‘Hay, Joey?” and then murmured reflectively 
to himself, “ Drains promptly attended to.” 

“Risin’ in life we are,” said my Mother, as she made the tea, 
“ Here’s Joey got a Young Lady gives him new shirts, and as for 
you, Wance, you’ve ackchly got a job.” 

“ Two jobs,” said my Father, briefly. 

“ What — another job ! ” cried my Mother. “ You never mean 
that, Vance?” 

“I said two jobs,” said my Father. “When you’ve got one 
job, if you’re a-goin’ to make it up to two, you’ll have to pervide 
another. You’ll find I ain’t mistaken! And I ain’t neither, 
imless I’m very much mistook. ’Cos, you count ’em off on your 
fingers, Joey! There’s this here little job I’ve in ’and for your 


60 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Miss Lorcy’s Papa, Dr. Whatever-you-choose-to-call-him. Well! 
thaPs one, ain’t it ? Count him on your fingers. — One ! ” 

M. — Well, now, Vance, do go along with your chaff, and tell 
us right off ” 

F. — “I’m a-tellin’ of you right off. You’ve got him, Joey, have 
you? Wery good. Then there’s this here other job, round be- 
hind the School-House. He’s two. Got him ? ” 

M. — “ Now whoever would have thought, to see you come in at 
that there door, that you had three Building jobs. And your 
Board not up a month ! ” 

F . — “ Sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Wance,” and here my 
Father’s peculiar manner became perceptible. “How many have 
you counted up to, Joey?” 

Me.— “ Two ” 

F. — “Two I sticks to! And a wery nice number in itself 
though not so large as might be. And unreasonable, I says, to 
ask for more. So now, Mrs. Wance! ” 

And my Father, having developed the manner I cannot describe, 
burst into a genial laugh and spoke through his nose. His little 
ruse having entrapped his victim, his good-humour became jovial 

“Where did I say this here job was? Up behind the School- 
^us, I said, and I believe it is — ^but I haven’t seen it myself.” 
And my Father, having sufficiently stimulated our curiosity, sud- 
denly retired behind an impenetrable screen of secrecy; but was, 
I think, a little taken aback when my Mother left him there and 
went back to Poplar Villa. What was it wrong with them drains, 
after all? 

My Father was, I am convinced at this time, practising impos- 
ture on my Mother as a lay-figure with a view to more mature 
practice later on The Life. So he almost went through the pre- 
tence of thinking a minute, about which small job my mother 
j referred to, before replying — 

(j “Them Drains at Popular Wilier? O’ coorse as I said! No 
' Shore! This here good Gentleman he’s so wery wise, he is, and 
no respect for Experience, he hasn’t — and then it’s gettin’ ’arf the 
front garden up, and I’d told ’im! All the same, this I will say, 
that his behaviour in admitting himself wrong is quite the Gen- 
tleman, and liberal amends! ‘Mr. Wance,’ says he, ‘I see that 
I was mistaken and you were perfectly right.’ And then he says 
what did I recommend? And of course I says the underground 
arrangements (as I calls ’em for to avoid the old Lady goin’ into 
Convulsions) would probly be under the lawn, and could be found 
by piercing with a p’inter-rod, and avoid entrenchments on the 


JOSEPH VANCE 


61 


Doctor’s porket. And my young man on the job, William, he 
agrees with me. And the old lady, she weeps, she does, and says 
they’re livin’ over a Plague-Pit, and the only wonder is they 
haven’t all got Asiatic Cholera and Typhus. And I says to her, 
‘You’re a rare lot safer, Marm, over these here Plague-Pits than 
you would be if they was to connect you with the Main Shore in 
the road.’ And she says, oh she do hope the Man is right, but oh 
she do wish dear Kandall you’d never taken the house on a twenty- 
one years’ lease. But they must give notice at the end of the 
first seven, that was flat. And Dr. T. he says then there was still 
four years of peace and quiet.” 

“But, Vance dear, see what a lot you do know! Who’d ever 
have thought of p’inter-rods ?” 

“Well, my dear, let us give credit where credit is due ! William 
(the young man I mentioned as working on that job) is dooly 
entitled to credit, as having mentioned a p’inter-rod to me afore 
I happened to mention it to Dr. T. as in coorse I should have 
done. Let us hope that William may be long spared to do 
sim’lar.” My Father appeared to finish his cup of tea in honour 
of his sentiment. “ I’ve squared it up with Dr. T.,” he continued, 
“ that so soon as the family is gone to ’Urn Bay the ground shall 
be opened and the ree-ceptacles emptied of their n’isome contents, 
meanwhile stip’Iating that when he ketches that old party ’oldin’ 
like Grim Death onto ’andles that sends cataracks of water down, 
he shall just collar hold of her and put her under restraint as a 
loonatic. As to the rest, it’s a plumber’s job, and I shall arrange 
to have it done. ’Enderson in the ’Orpington Road, or Packleses 
niece’s ’usband over Clapham way — either o’ them ’ll make a job 
of it.” 

I think I have given sufiicient detail of my Father’s first ex- 
ploit in the Building line to indicate the reasons of his subse- 
quent success. He was really very shrewd, and had a keen per- 
ception of the sort of wisdom shown by the Brave Little Tailor 
in the German child’s story, who sits in the branches while the 
Giant carries the tree, and the moment he stops jumps down and 
pretends he has been working equally hard. In all cases, the 
actual work was done by William, or by Henderson’s in the 
Orpington Road, or by Mrs. Packleses niece-by-marriage’s hus- 
band, or some similar ally. He always contrived to beg off paying 
the Giants till his employers settled the accounts, and for a long 
time was most discreet about overcharges — actually taking Dr* 
Thorpe into his confidence and showing him quite truthfully thalj 
seven and a half per cent, was the outside commission that h# 


62 


JOSEPH VANCE 


received on the total, and then deducting two and a half per cent, 
for a cash settlement. Dr. Thorpe, however, refused to make 
this reduction, saying that he did not see why he should filch Mr. 
iVance^s just earnings as a bribe to pay his debts honourably. 
iBut Dr. Thorpe was not a Man of Business. 

It must have cost my Father almost as great an effort to be thus 
abstemious as it did to pass the Roebuck unvisited. He managed 
both somehow, and job followed job with surprising rapidity. 
And every day as he came home to Stallwood^s Cottages he looked 
with placidity at the great Board, and murmured through its 
impressive contents, nodding slowly at the punctuations. And 
well he might, for the Board had done it all ! 

I wonder whether C. Dance, whoever he was, fell away and 
perished neglected after the disappearance of his Board! 


CHAPTEK IX 


HOW JOEY PAID AKOTHER VISIT TO POPLAR VILLA, AND HOW HE SHOC7KED 
MISS VIOLET. HOW HE WENT UP INTO THE LIBRARY AND SAT ON DR. 

Thorpe's knee and did euclid. how he wept about miss lossie. 

HOW DR. T. offered HIM AN EDUCATION. AND OF THE SAD COL- 
LAPSE OF PETER GUNN, TESTE PORKY OWLS. 

I RESUME my recollections of Poplar Villa during the short 
interval before the family's departure for Heme Bay, where they 
went in spite of the lamentations of Miss Violet. 

For when I made my appearance one morning by a special 
appointment of Miss Lossie's, the very first thing I heard was 
this young martyr's resignation coming into the breakfast room 
through the conservatory, which was on the way into the garden. 

Master Joseph was on the breakfast table on his stomach, draw- 
ing an assassination, and saturating his lead pencil injudiciously. 
He descended suddenly when he saw me, bringing the tablecloth 
with him, and exclaiming, ‘‘The Boy ith to be took staight to 
Lothie and no nonthenth," proceeded to push me from behind, as 
though I had been a perambulator, into the back garden. Looking 
back now through my exact recollection of his words, I conjecture 
with their help a previous interview of the two sisters in which the 
elder had expressed a hope that at least I should have to wait 
outside a little (for discipline), and the younger had driven her 
coach and six through it with destructive energy. 

Being pushed into the back garden by my namesake, I found 
Miss Lossie turning the practically unlimited supply of water 
on to the flower-beds; while her sister in a garden chair under 
a parasol, and reading as usual a Novel, was also denouncing * 
Heme Bay and complaining of the absence of sympathy for her- 
self in an unfeeling world. I was struck by the likeness to Mrs. 
Packles. But I did feel that the latter had the better right to 
complain, contrasting in my own mind the difference between life 
at the Wash-tub in an atmosphere of soapy steam, and life at 
Poplar Villa tainted only by effluvia which demanded the nose of 
an Expert to detect them. 

“And you know perfectly well the weather will be quite fine 

63 


64 


JOSEPH VANCE 


and smooth till we pass the Nore — it always is! And then we 
shall all have to go down and be sick in the cabin, except you and 
Joey. And I declare I won’t! If I get drenched through to 
the skin. I’ll stop on deck — I declare I will.” 

L, — ‘‘Very well, dear, stop on deck. Here’s Joey Vance. 
Have you ever been at sea, Joey Vance?” 

Me. — “Yes, Miss Lossie, please! .My Father took me down 
the river in the penny Paddle-Wheel Boat. And when the 
chimbley came right down on deck under the Bridges I wasn’t 
frightened. O such a lot of black smoke! And then wunst there 
was a Boy taller than me stood just under where the chimbley 

came down, and it came on his head, and ” 

F. — “Do stop that Boy saying wunst, and make him say once, 

I suppose that’s not impossible ” 

L. — Say once, Joey Vance.” 

Me. — “Once” (very clearly and decisively). 

F. — ^“You see he can do it perfectly, if he chooses. Only of 

course you encourage him in everything ” 

L. — How’s the book getting on, Vicey dear? And what hap- 
pened to the boy, Joey Vance?” 

Me. — ^“Him what was taller than me — Cheaps he was — and the 
chimbley came down a awful crack, and they picked him up and 
said it was an accident. And wunst the chimbley would not go 
back ” 

F. — “ There’s that Boy saying wunst again, and it gets on my 
nerves. I wish you wouldn’t.” 

L. — “It isn’t me, dear! Was the boy killed, Joey?” 

Me. — “ Oh yes, it was an accident. But please. Miss Lossie, I 
thought I was only to say once wunst, and done with it ! ” 

Miss Lossie’s laugh had the most infectious character. This 
time it caught on in the greenhouse among some canaries, and 
they sang without stopping a long time on end. It also started 
Betsy singing “ Mary Blane,” in the drawing-room, where she was 
dusting the ornaments. 

L. — “Poor little Boy! Was he really killed? Yes, Joey 
,V ance — say once always, won’t you, dear, for my sake ? ” 

I said of course. Miss Lossie! And Master Joey, I suppose 
feeling that a practical illustration would be useful, forthwith 
began, “Wunth, wunth, wunth, wunth, wunth,” and had to be 
stopped. “ Though really, J oey ducky,” said Miss Lossie, “ I 
shall have to find a new way of stopping your jaw. You do 
splutter in the moistest way, right into one’s mouth.” 

^ iF. — ‘^Dis^sting child!” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


65 


3fe.— ^‘And next day after that, Miss Lossie, the Wasp blowed 
np and all her Engine Bilers and every soul perished ! ” 

Master J. — “By fousands?” 

L. — “I remember! The Wasp was the name of the boat. 
How shocking! And you and your Father might have been on 
board 

/. — “But we wasn’t! — And Mr. Capstick said that we should 
rejoice when we reflected that all them Souls was hurled into 
eternity and they might have been me and my Father ’’(sen- 

sation). 

V. — “If this child is going on with his dreadful dissenting 
Little Bethel rubbish, I shall go indoors for one. And I do 
think, Lossie, you might check him a little instead of rolling on 
the grass with that shocking child, with his unendurable legs, and 
splitting with laughter.” 

Miss Lossie recovered herself slowly on to her knees, and re- 
leased her long eyelashes from hairdrift, which she patted into 
its place, and wiped her eyes with her wrists en passant. She then 
settled down on the lawn with her hands round her knees. I can 
see the hair-bracelet she had on one wrist now. 

L. — “Sit on my skirts, Joey ducky, and be quiet! Yes, they 
perished by fousands. But, t’other Joey, who is Mr. Cap- 
stick ? ” 

V. — Then I shall go in ! ” 

L. — “Cut away, Vicey dear! But who is he, Joey Vance?” 

Me. — “ The Minister of the Lord ” For, indeed, I really 

believed he was par excellence the Minister, and that others 
might have been dismissed, or might be waiting for their port- 
folios, but that, as a matter of fact, the Rev. Capstick was the 
only one at present. 

V. — “ Very well, then, Lossie ! I see you really want me to go 
in, and I’ll go!” 

L. — “No — no — Vicey dear! She shan’t go in, she shan’t! 
You’ll tell me all about Mr. Capstick some other time, won’t you, 
Joey Vance?” 

Me. — “ Yes — Miss Lossie ! ” So an armistice was arranged, and 
Miss Violet consented to remain out on condition that religious 
subjects should be tabooed. 

I wonder how young Christians of Miss Violet’s sensibilities 
managed to scrat on in the first century! It must have been 
trying. 

Miss Lossie, however, having conceded the point, honourably 
adhered to secular subjects. Under catechism, I showed myself 


66 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


lamentably ill-informed. I had not been to the Zoological Gardens, 
nor to the British Museum, nor to St. Paul’s. I need not say 
that the last only came in in its secular capacity, as a sight. 
But then I knew, and was proud to know, a Boy who had been 
in the Thames Tunnel, This was Gummy Harbuttle. And Miss 
Lossie said good gracious what a name for a human boy to have! 
I explained that the name Gummy was short for Charles Augus- 
tus. Never having known it in any other capacity, it seemed to 
me to contain the essence of Charles Augustus in two syllables. 
I was pleased when Miss Lossie said neither she nor the other 
Joey had been in the Thames Tunnel, as my acquaintance with 
a boy who had been there clearly improved my social status. 
The introduction of the Thames Tunnel, however, proved a dis- 
turbing element, for Master Joey demanded to be taken there at 
once. He made a grievance of this demand not being com- 
plied with; and was only pacified by a concession, which, as it 
turned out, was one which had a great influence on my own 
future. Eor the sop thrown to Master Joseph was that he should 
be permitted to go up into his Father’s library, and play at his 
Father’s foot-warmer being a boat under the table. He stipulated 
also that the Boy should take him up, and no one else. 

He carried all his points, triumphantly directing me to the 
door of his Father’s library; bursting it open with — with to 
play at a Man in a Boat under the table, and I witheth to have 
the paper-knife to row wiv’. And the Boy is to wait.” 

“ And that’s the Boy ! ” said Dr. Thorpe. Is your Father 
here, my Boy? Oh no, he wasn’t to come yet, I remember. Let’s 
have a look at you! If I am to be disturbed by young Monkeys, 
I may as well be disturbed outright. Can you read, old chap?” 

Me. — ‘‘Yes, Sir, please! At least, I can read the Bible and 
‘Robinson Crusoe’ rather slowly, and Mr. Capstick’s Tracks very 

slow indeed because of ” I was hesitating to find a word that 

would describe Jer. xv. 116 or Rev. lx. 12, when the Doctor re- 
marked that he had got a book there, and if I was to sit on his 
knee he would see which could read it through the fastest. So I 
sat on his knee. And the book was Euclid, and the Doctor nearly 
put it by, because the only legible bits without A’s and B’s were 
in writing-hand. But I stopped him because, I said, there was 
lots like it in Mr. Capstick’s Tracks (which, indeed, was the case 
— as the author, in order to drive home his damnation to the 
sinner, resorted to all sorts of printer’s fonts) ; and I actually 
read the words “equilateral” and “equiangular” — slowly, cer- 
tainly, but without assistance. Then I was seized with the thirst 


JOSEPH VANCE 


67 


of knowledge and wanted to know what they meant. The col- 
loquy that follows is very nearly if not quite correct. 

T. — “Equilateral is when all those three are the same” 
(pointing to the sides). “And equiangular is when all those 
three are the same ” (putting a line across each angle). 

Me . — “ I see. When they’re all o’ one sharpness. Then when 
it’s E-qui-lateral it’s E-qui-angular 

He. — “ How do you know that ? ” 

Me. — “Why, of course! Because if it wasn’t E-qui-angular 
it wouldn’t be E-qui-lateral. There would be a right side up. 
And there ain’t any right side up, because it’s the same all 
round 

He. — “Let’s try and draw one for ourselves. How shall we do 
it now ? ” 

Me. — “ I could drore it on the ground beautiful with my pegtop 
string. If me and Gummy ” 

He. — “Who’s he? However, never mind!” 

Me. — “ If me and Gummy was to toyk our two strings of a 
length, and dror’ two rings just that length apart, no more nor no 
less, and then jine up the middles with the crossin’ of the rings — > 
why, of course there we should be ! ” 

He. — “ I wonder if Euclid went on in this way when he was a 
little boy.” 

Me. — “Here it is drored! ” (pouncing on the First Proposition). 

But what have they wrote letters at the corners for ? ” 

Miss Lossie (coming in). — “ To puzzle little boys ! Foi/ don’t 
want ’em, Joey Vance, do you?” 

Me (thoughtfully). — “Of course me and Gummy could put the 
letters on afterwards, if they was wanted? His Father done my 
Father’s signboard.” I mentioned this to show that professional 
assistance would be forthcoming. 

Dr. T. — That would be the very thing! You don’t mean 
that it’s lunch already, Lossie? Your little friend and I were 
so interested we never heard the bell ” 

L. — “Yes, and we shall catch it again from Aunty. Where’s 
that child ? He’s so quiet he must be in mischief ” 

He was. He was impicking the seam in the side of the boat 
with the paper-knife. 

If I were obliged to state on oath how much of the foregoing is 
absolutely and literally true, I am afraid I should have to reply 
very little indeed. For remember, it is fifty years ago! But the 
whole of the remainder is so very nearly true. It is the fact, no 


68 


JOSEPH VANCE 


doubt, that I have to decipher a palimpsest; but then I wrote the 
original myself, or was myself the parchment. Choose whichever 
metaphor fits best. 

Suppose now I confine myself for a while to rigid recollection 
only, and tell the exact truth. Let Poplar Villa in detail vanish 
into the past, with Master Joey resisting execution in respect of 
the paper-knife; myself receiving instruction from Miss Lossie as 
to what dinner I should requisition from Anne; the Doctor hurry- 
ing off to ablutions, and a background of a second luncheon-bell 
and the voice of Aunt Isa, which could scarcely have thrilled with 
greater tragedy had the second luncheon-bell been the tocsin, and 
the family summoned to battle with fire and flood. 

I absolutely remember Miss Lossie kissing me to say good-bye 
at the gate, and her sister taking some exception thereto. I could 
fill out this recollection by saying that her words were “If you 
can kiss anything so dinnery,” but I am not sure enough of them. 

I can remember, but dimly, coming back along the dusty main 
road. Then being at home with my Mother, and crying in my 
sleeve in a corner because Miss Lossie was going away, and six 
weeks seemed too long to bear. 

I can remember that Henderson’s in the Orpington Road came 
and complained bitterly that my Father, just to save a few shil- 
lins should ’and over a job to Packles’s Niece’s husband — and 
him known Mr. Vance in the Buildin’ trade all these years! This, 
I take it, was another tribute to the Board. Really if it had 
been a Board with Minutes and Deputations it could not have 
been more influential. 

I can remember my Father saying to my Mother that she was 
to go over to Dr. Thorpe at the Wilier to talk about the young 
Nipper. “That ’ll suit your Book, hay, Joey?” And I thought 
he was referring to the first Book of Euclid. 

I can remember sitting on the gate-posts looking along the 
road to see my Mother come back, and the taste of the brazil nuts 
I was eating at the time. And I remember the joyous hug that 
implied that something delightful had happened. And that the 
something turned out to be that Dr. T. was going to send me to 
a proper school at his own expense. And that there (so a message 
to myself ran) I should learn all about the nearest approach to 
Equilateral and Equiangular triangles that my Mother’s powers 
of pronunciation could compass. 

I can remember, very dimly indeed, that Mr. Capstick endeav- 
oured to intervene on behalf of a miserable little institution that 
he called his Schools. But he had scarcely succeeded in procuring 


JOSEPH VANCE 


69 


my attendance as u. pupil in previous times, and now he was no- 
where. 

Before I absolutely quit this period of my life I will give a 
filled-out recollection of another of Porky Owls’s gossiping re- 
ports. It related to Peter Gunn, the Sweep, and told how he had 
fallen a victim to Nemesis. 

‘‘I seen that sportin’ character agin wot I told you seen your 
dad fight Mr. Gunn. Kec’lect? Well, I beared him talking to 
a Hom’libus. So I stops and listens. And he says ‘ Pore Gunn,’ 
he says, ‘ pore Peter ! ’ And he makes b’lieve he was a-cryin’ ! 
Then I gets a little nearer. And the Driver he says, ‘ I thought 
he was a-winnin’ all his stakes, Mr. Jerry,’ he says — ‘puttin’ by 
money, I thought he was.’ — ‘ Shore-ly,’ says Mr. Jerry, ‘ till he 
come acrost this here Moses Wardle. You know himf* And the 
Hom’libus knowed him. ‘ Him they call the ’ Anley Linnet ? ’ says 
the Hom’libus. — ‘That’s your man,’ says Mr. Jerry. ‘And he says 
Peter may butt to his ’art’s content — ^he don’t care! And the 
arrangement was for fifty pound a side, and relaxation Rules in 
respect of buttin’. “ He may do his worst by me,” says the Lin- 
net. Now,’ says Mr. Jerry, * you'll understand me easy enough. 
If I ketches this boy on one side of his ’ead, his ’ead ’ll give, and 
may be no great ’arm done! If I ketches him both sides at once, 
like this (‘Don’t you be frightened,’ says he, ‘7 ain’t a-goin’ to 
hurt you’), what becomes of this here boy? Sends for the under- 
taker, he does ! ’ and he give me a penny for standing still. 
‘ Well,’ says the Hom’libus, ‘ and when the men shook hands, 
what happened ? ’ ‘ Why, in coorse,’ says Mr. J erry, ‘ Gunn goes 
straight for his man’s stummick as usual, and just as he reaches 
him round comes the Linnet’s knuckles behind his ears simul- 
taneous. He’d been trainin’ for it, and it was just like a nut- 
cracker made of two sludge Jjammers. Of course he goes down 
on his back and ’as a little peace and quiet till they calls Time, 
and then he does the same thing again. Gunn’s backers was 
gettin’ oneasy.’ — ‘ How often did Gunn come up ? ’ says the Hom’li- 
bus. ‘Maybe three time, or maybe four!’ says Mr. Jerry. ‘Then 
they carried him off the ground, and Moses he pockets his money, 
and goes home to his farmley.’ And then the Driver he ’oilers, 
‘Bring me out that ’arf-a-pint, James,’ and when he takes it he 
says to James, ‘Ain’t it, James?’ and James he says ‘Ain’t it 
what?’ ‘Sickenin’ to see you,’ says the Driver, pleasantry-like. 
And he ’ands him back the pewter, and says good-morning to 
Mr. Jerry and drives off. ’Cos the Fares they was getting im- 
patient.” 


CHAPTER X 


ABOUT JOE WOW, A3 HE WRITES. AND ABOUT SOME OLD, OLD LETTERS 

OP lossie’s. some moralizing you may skip, how lossie went 

TO THE seaside. PORKY OWLS’s OBSCURANTISM — SOMEWHAT OP 

MISS YIOLET^S GRANDES PASSIONS. 

I WHO write this am an old, or perhaps I should say oldish man 
whom you have possibly seen at the British Museum Reading 
Room. I have not the slightest idea whom I am addressing. 
Until you are in a position to vouch for your own existence, you 
must continue a mere hypothesis; perhaps not more so than most 
of the readers of many of the books I can obtain with my magic 
ticket. But you are possible, though not probable; and I shall 
avail myself of my irresponsible omnipotence to deem you actual, 
as it suits my convenience to do so. 

Well, then — supposing that (in addition to entity without 
qualities) you are a frequenter of the Reading Room, you may 
have been told by an informant that I was an old cock, codger, 
card, or party, who had lived a good deal in South America, who 
was an ingenious Inventor and not unknown in that capacity in 
England twenty years since. He will probably have added that I 
was a secretive old bird, or a shy character, who kept myself to 
myself a good deal, and even that there was no getting much 
change out of me. If you have never been in the Reading Room, 
this sketch of what you might have heard there will classify me, 
and enable you to form a still further image of me as I sit here 
writing this in my chambers in the neighbourhood of Guilford 
Street. 

When I took possession two years since, the landlady assured 
me that they were commodious and airy. I might have discussed 
the point, but she had added that she had buried two husbands 
there ; and that appeared conclusive at the moment, though further 
experience has weakened my faith. The rooms are airy enough 
certainly when all the windows are open, and I can keep them 
open if I choose. But as for commodiousness, I never have more 
than one guest at a time ; so no strain is put upon their resources. 
I have some furniture of my own in a pantechnicon, and on my 

70 


JOSEPH VANCE 


11 


return from Brazil could have furnished a place for myself. 
But I found it easier to come here, as I wanted to resort to the 
Museum, and did not want encumbrances. In fact, I did not like 
being bothered; and thought furnished apartments the easiest to 
run away from if any one came after me whom I wished to avoid. 
In case this way of putting it should cause uneasiness, let me 
add that I am not a criminal. Neither had poverty any influence 
in my choice of a residence. It was merely that I wanted quiet 
for myself, leisure for writing, and had no motive or desire for 
renewing intercourse with the few survivors of those whom I had 
known in my youth in England. There were still one or two living 
whom I definitely wished to shun, for reasons which will appear in 
tny story. I fancy these believe me still in South America. But 
the absorbing power of twenty years is marvellous, and if I met 
them now I doubt if any of them would care to re-animate a 
fossil friendship. Bygones would not stand in the way, for they 
are fossils too! But it would be stale, flat, and unprofitable 
unless 

However, I won^t fill out that sentence just yet. I’ll see about 
it at the end of my narrative, or leave it to fill itself out. 

For the present I wish you to keep my image in your mind as 
that of a man of sixty (say in round figures) engaged in histori- 
cal research, chiefly connected with Engineering. I have no ob- 
jection to telling you, if you like, the name of a work I have in 
hand. It is The Relation of Mechanics to Music with especial 
reference to their place in History. It will probably never be 
read, any more than this Memoir; but I write it for the same 
reason; namely that I have begun it, and having begun it wish 
to finish it. "^y I began it I do not know, but I know why I 
began the Memoir. It was as an experiment to see how much I 
could really recollect if I once began to try, and then I got led 
on. It has become a sort of trial of strength with me now, and 
the more I come to memories I shirk, the more I nerve myself to 
the efforts to record them. 

The very first thing that set me on the track of my early boy- 
hood was the reading of some old letters of Lucilla Thorpe’s writ- 
ten half-a-century ago — ^yes ! half-a-century ago — ^to a great friend 
of her girlhood, Sarita Spencer. This friend married and went 
to live in Ceylon, where she died, many years back. The course 
of events by which they came into my possession will develop in 
the story. I found them two years ago with many others in a 
box which I disinterred at the Pantechnicon when I returned from 
Brazil. I opened the first packet, and glanced at one of them. 


72 


JOSEPH VANCE 


then replaced it from sheer cowardice. But it started recollec- 
tions in my mind which led to my writing as much of my narra- 
tive as I could without difficulty recall, and I now go back to the 
letters (painful as it may be to read them) as a means of helping 
me forward to still further recollections. 

It is strange to think that the old letter that I have again 
released from the soiled wrapper that contained it for so many 
years, was actually written in that very same Poplar Villa. But 
it was, and the almost invisible pencil writing on the wrapper 
is Lossie Thorpe, 1849-60. Of course now and again letters are 
kept (and kept clean, as these are now the wrapper is off) for 
half-a-century ; and they must have been written somewhere , — so 
why not this one at Poplar Villa, on a warm June evening under 
the very pear tree whose fruit I helped to pick in September? 
Why does it seem to me so very strange that that paper was 
held and written on by that very Lossie, that that brown ink-blot 
is the very same black ink-blot she complains of in connection 
with Joey, and that the rest of that blot had to be washed off the 
hand that I so well remember the hair bracelet on? 

My own particular sorrow^s crown of sorrows has always (as 
I said) been the telling of bad news. So the remembrance of 
happier things has to go second. But it doesnT make it much 
better that there happens to be something still worse. 

I almost wish I could, having set myself the task, just write my 
own story straight through from memory, helped by probability. 
When one has made the plunge into the sea of one’s own past, 
one can swim about happily enough till one has to cut one’s feet 
returning to shore! The sleeper in Newgate, who has. to be called 
early to go and be hanged, would dream he was birds’ -nesting or 
playing at marbles in perfect comfort if you would only let him 
alone. And these schoolgirl letters won’t let me keep the dream 
real. They remind me with a continuous refrain, that what was 
Now then, is Then now, and I should like to be able to forget it. 
But I cannot manage so well without them, so I must have my 
tooth out over it. What draws my tooth is the actual paper, the 
same that that hand touched; the actual blot, whose unpreserved 
half was washed off fifty years ago ; the very folds the inky fingers 
pressed. I can live through the past again in peace when once I 
am well started, but I flinch from these connecting links of tan- 
gible reality. 

However, it has to be done, so here goes! You know what it 
feels like, when your dentist clips your tooth-root round with 
those beautiful shiny pincers? 


JOSEPH VANCE 73 

LOSSIE THORPE TO MISS SARITA SPENCER. 

“ Poplar Villa, June 16, 1850. 

My DexVREST Sarry : IPs such a lovely afternoon I must write 
you a long letter. Vicey and Aunty will have to change the books 
at Mudie’s, that is, if Aunty will only go and get ready and leave 
those drains alone. There won’t be a drop of water left in the 
cistern. 

^‘Do you know, I am convinced you are right about Miss 
Dunckelmann. She came to England to learn English, and never 
taught us a word of either German or French. This new one is 
said to know lots — ^but she seems a perfect martyr to Neuralgia. 
I do not know what earthly use it is being able to teach French 
and German and Latin and Mathematics if you can’t do it. I’m 
very sorry for her, of course; but if I were to undertake to teach 
you Chinese and then only have Neuralgia what would you say? 
I don’t mean, dear, that you would find fault. I’m sure you 
would put up with anything. But it would be exasperating, 
wouldn’t it? For my part I can’t see the least why girls shouldnt 
have caps and gowns and be real students. What was Papa to do 
with us girls, I should like to know? You know Mamma had a 
horror of Boarding Schools for girls, and so Papa didn’t like to so 
soon after, or even Miss Namby’s where you went would have been 
better than growing up a weed, and not knowing I rench and Ger- 
man. As for poor Aunt Izzy, you know what she is. I’m sure you 
never lived in this house the inside of a month without finding 
that out. 

You know, dear, I so often think if Mamma had lived it would 
have been different, because a Mother is quite another thing to an 
Aunt, however high her standard. Of course I feel that I am a 
most ungrateful girl to poor Aunty, who I know is goodness itself, 
and the sacrifices she makes — of course, too, I know I never was 
grateful to darling Mamma — ^but then I didn’t have to be, and 
that just makes all the difference. I know it’s because one is bad — 
but the minute one has to be grateful one isn’t. Only when it 
was Mamma one never thought about it being grateful, one rushed 
off straight to her to cry when one wanted to cry, or to make her 
laugh too when it was anything nice. I recollect when I was ten, 
and Uncle Creswick brought us all birthday presents instead of 
only me, how we could hardly stop to thank Uncle, and all rushed 
off like maniacs up to Mamma’s room, and Papa came out and 
said not quite such a noise, and we could hardly stop to show even 
him. And it was always Mamma first thing in the morning, and 


74 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Mamma last thing at night. And then yon know how we all went 
to stay at Grandmamma’s. And then one day Papa drove up when 
we were at breakfast. And Grandma got up and went out and 
pulled to the door, but I heard her say ‘ Well ? ’ And he said this 
morning at three. And then I heard him say I can tell them. 
Mother, I shall not break down. And then I ran out. And you 
know, dear, what it was like because I told you. And then when 
Papa fetched us all back a week after, it wasn’t Mamma but Aunt 
Izzy at the door. And we all walked about on tiptoe and whis- 
pered. And then Joey began, only he was dreadfully red and made 
frightful grimaces. 

I know I’ve told you all this before, dear, lots of times. But 
I can’t help going on if I begin ; and it’s good for me because now 
if I get lying awake to-night, I shan’t go over it half so much if 
I know it’s in this letter in the Post. You know one does go over 
and over it so, and things always will happen to bring it back. 
There’s that little Ducky who knows nothing of his Mother except 
that she is buried at Colchester and that’s all the Geography he 
knows too. And to-day when Papa and Professor Absalom were 
tallying about Ethics he cut in and interrupted the conversation to 
state that Ethics was in Colchester — by which he meant that Col- 
chester was in Essex. Poor darling Pa couldn’t laugh as Professor 
Absalom did — and I don’t wonder. 

‘^Do you know what that great splodge of ink is? That’s Joey, 
of course. He wants to write too, and then he climbs up on me and 
gets at the ink over my shoulder. It doesn’t matter on this letter, 
because it came on the clean paper, and I can write round it. But 
it’s gone on my hair-bracelet that was Mamma’s, and I don’t know 
if it will come off. Joey has offered to suck it off, but I don’t think 
ink is good for him. 

What do you think Vicey and her friend Alice Pratt have done ? 
Of course I oughtn’t to tell because I promised not. But I shall — 
because Vicey solemnly promised not to say a word about what I 
told her Jane Pennell said about what Sarah Sant said about her 
Uncle’s property in Worcestershire. And then went straight away 
and told Alice Pratt. So I don’t hold myself the least bound — and 
I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you (it’s secret, mind) that she and 
Alice Pratt have promised on honour that if any gentleman ever 
proposes to them they will tell each other exactly what he says. 
Isn’t it silly? Besides, no gentleman ever will propose to Alice 
Pratt, with that nose. If you and me were to do so, there might be 
Borne sense in it, because you have a reasonable nose, dear. 

Now I mus.tn’t write any more nonsense. I’m sure nobody te 


JOSEPH VANCE 75 

read this would ever imagine I was an almost nearly grown-up girL 
So with ever so much love, as Joey says, I remain, 

Yours affectionately, 

“Lossie Thorpe.” 

Would anybody, I wonder? When I read this through first, I 
answered that nobody would. The second time I decided that 
probably most people would say it was a very fair all-round letter 
for a girl of that age, at that date, without graduates for gov- 
ernesses, or Newnham and Girton on the horizon. The disappoint- 
ment I felt at first was because I expected a renewal or repetition 
of the impression I had received from the writer half-a-century 
back. You see, at that time I was only a little ragamuffin eight 
years old, very little better off in his surroundings than the two 
scapegoats of my bottle-throwing exploit. I wonder, if I could in 
the form of my now Self walk in at the swing-gate again at Poplar 
Villa (I should be able to look over it instead of through the third 
bar up) and find the then Dr. Thorpe and his family at home, 
should I come away unimpressed, and say those girls of the Doc- 
tor’s seemed rather nice, but how dreadfully they spoil that 
child? 

The suggestion grates on me and I prefer to think that the 
written record is wrong and Memory is right. Anyhow, the latter 
is now part of Me, and may as well go on to the end. Because 
the end will come, and then there may be no more Me, or at least 
no more visible and audible evidence of my existence to my fel- 
low-men. 

I cannot understand either the frame of mind that shrinks 
from extinction, nor that which professes to anticipate and be- 
lieve in it. I should not be surprised if after all the Egyptians 
were right, and the death of a man were the birth of a soul. But 
(like my namesake, Joey) I wants to know; and supposing this 
to be the case, are we always to live on under a burden of old griefs 
constantly accumulating at compound interest, for ever? Or will 
a time come when the onrush of some inconceivable Dawn will 
brush aside the cobwebs of the unsatisfactory past — even the 
pleasures Memory has turned into pain — and put the shocking 
old house in order for an interminable day ? 

Keally if there be no such prospect, would it not be better to 
be that entirely self-satisfied thing, a Non-Entity? Or failing the 
possibilities of non-existing, to go through a subterranean phase, 
at Kensal Green or Woking, and only be restored to consciousness 
(and the recovery of a good deal of dispersed nitrogen and ©ar- 


76 JOSEPH VAl^CE 

bon) within twenty-four hours of a settlement guaranteed com- 
plete and final? 

I believe the last idea was nearly the excellent Mr. Capstick’a 
— or, at least, it formed the Matrix of a complicated Mixture, in 
which the departed who had “fallen asleep in Jesus’’ were de- 
voured by worms under the sod while reposing in Peace there and 
looking forward to a joyful Resurrection; all which did not inter- 
fere with their joining in the Choir of the Blessed and even 
infesting Abraham’s Bosom. Poor Mr. Capstick! Perhaps the 
multitude of Solutions which he poured into this Mixture were like 
the dozen or so of remedies your doctor gives you in one table- 
spoonful, in a glass of water, every four hours, one or other of 
which you feel pretty sure must do you good. I really think the 
Mixture did my Mother good. As to my Father, he merely said 
(adopting, but spoiling the medical metaphor), “ Capstickses pills 
goes in at one ear and out at the other.” 

Sarita Spencer must have been staying at Poplar Villa very 
shortly before I went there, as the letter which follows, written 
just before the family’s departure for Herne Bay, treats the visit 
as a recent one. There are one or two intermediate letters, speak- 
ing of her coming visit in July. But of course this is the first 
that has the strong interest of an allusion to myself. After 
referring to some unimportant incidents of the visit, the letter 
continues thus : 

“We should have been very dull, dear, after you went only there 
was all the excitement of the hunt for your ring and the Police 
came about it, and had refreshments in the kitchen and suspected 
the servants, and after all there it was in the toothbrushes all the 
time! Then Aunt Izzy got her way about the drains and they’ve 
all got to be done while we’re away. And the man that came about 
the Drains brought such a nice little Boy with him, who is eight but 
might have been seven, he is so small and compact. I must tell 
you about him because Pa is going to send him to school where 
Nolly is. Not but what I hate Mr. Penguin and think him a 
ridiculous old prig. I don’t want to be apologized about even 
by Papa and called a young Puss to any Mr. Penguins. 

“ I took the Boy in the garden and made him pick pears. And 
he’s been here to-day and made us all laugh so with his funny accent. 
Only Vicey went into a Rage about me and him. And then after- 
wards when we were all at dinner she wanted Papa to tell me not 
to go on like that. And Papa said, ‘ You’re not to go on like that. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


77 


l/)ssie dear. Give me a baked potato with your fingers, dear, but 
on no account go on like that, and then Vi will tell us what you 
are not to go on like.’ And then Vicey said, * Why, in that irre- 
ligious way with dreadful Boys out of the street — talking about 
Eternity and the Lord ! ’ And Pa said it was very sad, and how 
came I to talk of such irreligious things as Eternity and the Lord to 
dreadful Boys out of the street? And Vicey said well I knew he 
said plunged-into-Etemity and the Minister-of-the-Lord — some 
horrid Dissenting parson he’d got — and for her part she didn’t 
think it was a thing to joke about. And another time, she said, 
she wouldn’t sit there. And then Aunty murmured submissively 
from her end of the table, ‘ I am not quite sure that perhaps Violet 
may not be right, dear Randall.’ And Pa said Oh there was no 
doubt about it, and quite took Aunty in and she said she was glad 
he thought so. And then he said, ‘ Now mind, Lossie, never you 
say plunged-into-Eternity or the Minister-of-the-Lord to dreadful 
Boys out of the street or your sister won’t sit there.’ And then 
Vicey got up in tears and said she didn’t want any more dinner 
and would go. And I had to run after her and fetch her back 
and tell her it was a Roly-poly Pudding. 

** But that’s not really what I wanted to tell you about, but how 
Pa had the Boy up into his room and I found him sitting on dear 
Pa’s knee doing Euclid. And when Vicey came back Pa tried to 
make peace by telling us all about it. But Aunty and Vicey 
wouldn’t show any interest and were chilly and meek. So Pa said 
never mind Lossie he’d show me. And I can do Euclid myself, so 
I could understand. Joey Vance (that’s the Boy’s Name) said 
he and a friend could make a triangle with all the sides the same 
and all the corners the same sharpness so that there should be no 
right side up, if they took their two peg-top strings the same 
length and made two circles a string apart. It was something Pa 
said in the way he put it that made him think the Boy should be 
properly educated. Penguin would do to begin with till he could 
see his way. 

Papa says too he thinks the Boy’s Father must be a very clever 
Builder as he knew there was no drain under the front garden, and 
Pa thought there was. He said he must have been some time in 
business as he had seen his name up so often at his place along 
our road. And Vicey said if he had plenty to do why doesn’t he 
dress and educate his son better? And Pa said he didn’t say he 
had plenty to do. And Vicey said why hadn’t he, then — ^he ought 
to! And Pa said probably a Man without Capital. The Boy’s 
mother is to come and see Pa about it when he has seen us safe to 


78 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Heme Bay and come back by the Monday Boat. We are all busy 
now packing and Aunty and Vicey are making a great fuss and 
won’t allow anything to go at the bottom of any box or it will be 
crushed. And as I finish this letter in a hurry I can hear a shindy 
going on between Aunty and the laundress about The Wash being 
back in time. And of course it won’t, because it never is even 
if that unintelligible old Mrs. Packles promises ever so. And it 
will have to be sent down separate after and Vicey will have a 
bad cold first thing and borrow all my pocket-handkerchieves. 
Joey wants to send you four kisses which he wishes to draw him- 
self, but really I can’t let him even if he howls because I must 
hurry away to pack. Good-bye, dear. 

Your Affect. Lossie. 

P. S. — I have compromised with Joey. He is to be allowed to 
lidc the envelope. Good-bye.” 

I did not expect to come across my old friend Mrs. Packles, 
inarticulate and apologetic, in the front pantry probably, testify- 
ing, over a basket load of cleanness tucked up round the top with 
a red bandana handkerchief, to the unexampled good faith she 
proposed to exhibit. Her sudden appearance had a strange effect 
on me — that of a moment of apprehension that she would com- 
municate the tale of my Father and the Sweep to Poplar Villa 
and upset everything. The fifty years had slipped away as I read. 
In an instant they recollected me and came back brandishing a 
change of tense for Mrs. Packles; to be sure she might have told 
them all about it. But then apparently she didn’t ! I don’t think 
the story ever reached the Villa. 

I was not the least surprised to find recorded another instance of 
the effect of the Magic Board. No sooner did Hr. Thorpe’s eyes 
light on it than ex-post-facto visions of that Board came un- 
questioned and convincing into what he really thought was his 
Memory. There never was another Board like that one! I dis- 
cerned its infiuence also on Hr. Thorpe in the correct attitude of 
mind shown by his way of accounting for my Father’s back- 
wardness in the world. If it had not been for the Board he would 
have said perhaps my Father tippled, perhaps he didn’t pay the 
weekly wages, perhaps he was quarrelsome, perhaps he hadn’t any 
money— perhaps anything! But the Board mesmerized him, and 
directed him to say that he was a Man without Capital. It was 
probably an unconscious record that my Father was on the first 
stepping-stone to success. For no sooner is it clear that you are 
a Man without Capital than it is nearly equally clear that the Cap- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


79 


ital you haven’t got is somewhere else, and may drift your way. Of 
j jourse it is uninvested and lying idle, because nobody in his 
senses would disturb an Investment. But it is in the air, and 
if you make it distinctly understood that you are only going to 
handle it, but not to use it for any specific object, you may cap- 
ture some of it. Don’t say what you mean to do with it! I 
I know a lady who sold all her shares in a gold-mine because she 
heard that the Company had spent £2000 on one stamping 
machine. “It may have been my £2000!” said she, indignantly. 

The next letter, written from Heme Bay, gives a graphic 
account of the journey. 

I; 

“We had to get up at six to be in time for the Packet. And th^ 
fuss! I had no idea it was possible for any one to be in such a 
stew as Aunty. Vicey is bad enough, but then she never packs 
anything wrong, because she never packs anything at all. She only 
gives out that she gives up, and calls us all to witness that if any- 
thing whatever is wrong it won’t be her fault, and that if the Boat 
goes to the bottom she hopes we’ll remember that she said so all 
I along. I think this the meanest prophesying. If I was a prophet 
I’d be one, and not make holes to get out at. But Vi is nothing to 
Aunty because she is a Puddle in a Storm, and carries no weight. 
; Really to hear Aunty about those cabs ! As it was they did come 
quite ten minutes before they promised. But there was Aimty ! 
Looking at her watch every two minutes and calling to Anne over 
I the stairs that she knew the clock in the Hall was slow, and march- 
ing off with sudden determination to Pa in his Library and saying, 
‘ Randall, I know those cabs will be late and we shall lose the Boat. 
And you know how awful the confusion is at London Bridge and 
most likely all the streets blocked.’ And then when the cabs did 
come Aunty denounced one of the horses as Unfit for Work, and 
wanted Pa to insist on its being inspected at once by the Society for 
Cruelty to Animals. And Pa said we shouldn’t get off. And then 
Aunty got into another stew about the boxes on the top being too 
heavy, and tipping the cab over and coming through the roof on our 
heads. But the men said if they was corded tight enough across 
the top they wouldn’t come through — and then Aunty was satisfied. 

“But I really was frightened we shouldn’t get the Boat. For 
when we got to London Bridge Wharf there was a stoppage and all 
our luggage had to be carried by separate men, and of course any 
one of them might have got away in the crowd, and we should never 
have seen our Box again. But they all said they were very honest 


80 


JOSEPH VANCE 


and trustworthy, and appealed to a Policeman who said he wasn’t 
on duty. However, in the end the party got off safely' in a boat 
called the Ked Rover, Captain Large, the machinery of which gave 
great satisfaction. Only Joey wanted all the brass parts detached 
and given to him, and Aunty was very uncomfortable at such a 
lot of heavy iron, and asked a Mariner whether the boat didn’t 
sometimes go down, and he said not on this line. But he gave the 
boats on the other line a very bad character and hinted that they 
very seldom arrived at their journey’s end. And Aunty conversed ' 
with him for some time from her eminence (you know her way) 
and gave him a shilling. She insisted on Pa saying Grace at din- 
ner in the Cabin, and said in a hollow voice, ‘ It may be the last 
time you will ever say Grace, Randall.’ And I don’t know, but 
I’m almost sure some rude young men at the next table heard this 
and one said, ^For what we are going to bring up Lord make us 
truly thankful.’ And I believe Pa heard it too, because he laughed 
so. I hope Vicey didn’t. I suppose not, because she said she 
thought them nice gentlemanly young men. You know how she 
changes her note when it’s Religion. 

But we weren’t very bad, any of us, and it’s always great fun 
going along the Pier, which is two miles long, in a truck with a 
sail, only of course Aunty, who has never been, thought it wasn’t 
safe and asked a very stout man in blue with an oilskin hat whether 
it would blow over the pier. And he thoitght she wanted to know 
how soon it started and said presently Marm. And Pa said it 
usually blew over about halfway. Wasn’t it a shame to make 
game of poor Aunty? Only I do it just as much as anybody.” 

This letter, trivial enough in itself, has a kind of indirect 
interest to me, as it shows that for the time being the Boy hadl 
quite passed out of Miss Lossie’s mind, though the Bey’s mind 
continued full of Miss Lossie and Poplar Villa. I gave highly 
coloured versions of the family to Porky Owls and other friends, 
and was indeed offensive in my claim of acquired knowledge in 
respect of Euclid. I clearly remember treasuring an inten- 
tion to disclose my erudition suddenly to Porky, to his disparage- 
ment and humiliation. I felt that his vulgar technical superiority 
at Peg-in-the-Ring was at an end, and chose the first occasion 
to pounce on him with “You don’t know what Equilateral 
Triangles are, nor yet Equiangular.” Porky, with great presence 
of mind, denied the existence of both. In detail, and as soon as 
he had been informed of the claims of these triangles, he re- 
pudiated equality in the sides of any figures whatever except 


JOSEPH VANCE 


81 


squares. They would,” said he, be oneven all over excepting 
they was drored square.” I endeavoured to convince him by draw- 
ing one on the ground (as I had said he and I could do) with peg- 
top strings, and I regret to say failed altogether to produce in him 
a Geometrical frame of mind. He entrenched himself behind the 
greater accuracy of eyesight of a chap thirteen months older than 
me, alleging that it all depended which side you stood, the two 
top lines being always longer than the bottom one, and the top 
corner always ’arf as sharp again. I pointed out that I had got 
’em all off of one string! But Porky was a difficult opponent 
in argument, for he fell back on the inherent varieties in the 
radii of the same circle. “You try ever so,” said he, “you’ll 
never get ’em alike all the way round.” He then took up the 
position that he (being older) could supply me with a much 
better form of three equal lines, by droring of ’em straight 
across a paving-stone. “What do you want with ’em jined up?” 
said he. 

Porky was by no means the last example of his school that I 
have found difficult to convince. The Mechanical World, with 
which I have had something to do since those days, bristles with 
grown-up Porkies. No young man trying to bring forward an 
invention is without many experiences of the condescension of 
superior knowledge- which not only offers him a better means of 
doing what he proposes, but indicates how much better it would 
be to use those means to do something entirely different. After 
this collision with Porky I decided to conceal my new-found 
learning. I had pictured myself careering into Fame on the sides 
or angles of instructive triangles. But I made no further attempt 
on Gummy Harbuttle or any one else. I had received my first 
snub for offering a new idea to an imwilling intellect. 

There follow several letters from Herne Bay written to Sarita 
Spencer. A great deal is incomprehensible to me, and there is 
no one living who can explain it, except, of course, the writer, 
whom I can scarcely consult for reasons which will appear later. 
Neither if I could do so would anything be gained, as the un- 
intelligible parts evidently relate to matters of no importance. 

I am really only hunting for references to myself. Still, some 
passages bring back the family so vividly as to be worth copying. 
For instance, Lossie writes a sentence all wrong, and has to write 
it over again because of Joey, whom I can fancy climbing over 
her more sub, and hindering frightfully. “I can’t,” she says, 
“scratch out anything and alter, because if I do Joey wants to 


82 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


know why, and if he isn’t satisfied tries to clean up the alteration.” 
The letter continues: — 

“ I thought Vicey had got rubbishing novels enough to keep her 
quiet, but it seems not. What does she do but go and scrape ac- 
quaintance with some young men who are idling about every day 
on the beach or rowing in boats. And then Aunty makes a row 
and says Papa wouldn’t approve, which is very likely true, without 
any introduction or anything. I actually saw her let one of those 
young men carry her books up the beach for her and help her over 
the breakwater. I wonder if she’s going to write to Alice Pratt 
about that ! I shouldn’t the least wonder if she did. But he can’t 
be over eighteen so it could hardly count.” 

That is Violet all over. Of course she did! I suppose the 
reason I had not already seen her in this character was that there 
was no young male visitor at Poplar Villa when I was there. 
Then follows a little about Aunt Isabella: — 

Do you know Aunty is getting dreadfully deaf, and the other 
day when that clergyman said something about deathbed repent- 
ance, she said she hadn’t got tenpence, but could change haK-a- 
crown. And when that Mrs. Matthison said I’m afraid you find 
your girls very unmanageable, ‘ But, my dear Clarissa, even Violet 
is only just sixteen, and it is so very soon to begin thinking about 
such things.’ And we had such a job to make out that she thought 
Mrs. Matthison had said unmarriageable. And then she said she 
could quite well hear, and we needn’t shout ! I hope it isn’t going 
to get worse.” 

Violet evidently didn’t think it a bit too soon. But whether 
she was unmarriageable or not, she was certainly unmanageable; 
and Aunt Isabella must have been conscious that she had her 
hands full. However, Violet clearly knew the weak side of her 
deaf Aunt, and regulated her conduct accordingly. Eor this is 
what follows in the same letter, written later in the day :— 

*^1 declare I really am quite disgusted with Vicey. You know 
she is just as pigheaded as a mad bull when she gets the bit in her 
teeth. In spite of all I say, just fancy her actually bringing that 
young man into the house and facing Aunty with him I I must say 


JOSEPH VANCE 


83 


I do admire her intrepidity ! Of course it may be all true what he 
says, that he’s a cousin of the Bellamy Seftons, and that his Aunt 
J ane married an Arklow, but what I want to know is how did Vicey 
know he was when she let him carry her books for her and help 
: her over the breakwater? He didn’t rush at her and say I am a 
cousin of the Bellamy Seftons, let carry your three-volume 
novel, nor, my Aunt Jane married an Arklow, let me lift you over 
this breakwater I And yet when I went down into the parlour there 
was Aunty already talking family with him and asking if those 
were the Arklows of Packlington or the Arklows of Stowe? Don’t 
you know her dim remote genteel air with her eyes half closed 
behind her spectacles, and looking as if she was Debrett’s Aunt at 
least? She only seemed a little uneasy about what could possibly 
bring a Connection of an Arklow to such a place as Herne Bay. 
The young man, whose name is Bobert Sefton, said he’d come for 
a lark with his two friends, but that it was so awfully jolly that he 
wished his mother and sister to come too from Scarborough. 
Aunty seemed to think Scarborough much more proper for Family 
families.” 

I Lossie’s next letter a few days later treats Vi with great 
severity. But I think it only just to call attention to the first 
and last sentences- of what follows, and to indicate that the very 
j sensible boy, or young man, must have come in rather soon to 
assist in moralizing. Both these young people seem to have taken 
a very superior tone — almost too good to be true! Here is the 
letter : — 

I took ever such a long walk this morning all by myself. Only 
Joey of course. And I got very melancholy thinking about Mamma 
and what a bad thing it is for a girl like Vicey to have no mother 
to look after her and keep her in decent order. It set me wonder- 
ing whether I really was going to have an elder sister who was a 
flirt — I always thought that flirts and forgers and embezzlers and 
murderers were things they had in other people’s families and in 
the newspapers, but not people like us. I can’t imagine where 
Vicey can have inherited it from. Perhaps our great-great-grand- 
mother when she was sixteen always had some young goose in tow. 
And will Vicey’s great-great-granddaughter follow her example? 
Eobert Sefton’s cousin Edward Clayton, who really seems a very 
sensible boy, or young man, told me Eobert was just like that — if 
it wasn’t one girl it was another. And he said he should like to 
know what Sylvia Halliday would have said if she’d seen Eobert 


84 


JOSEPH VANCE 


fastening Miss Violet’s glove for her and every one a thousand 
miles away. Of course I said it would have been very unreasonable 
in the girl whoever she was to say anything about it, because why 
on earth shouldn’t Kobert fasten up Vicey’s glove if it got unbut- 
toned? And then I said if every one else was a thousand miles 
off how came you to see it? And he said he saw it through his 
telescope. And I said how mean. And he said he couldn’t help it 
because he was looking to see where Aunt Izzy was, as he’d prom- 
ised to take her a bit of India-rubber, and he came across Vicey 
and Robert quite by accident. I dare say you’ll say it wasn’t 
a thing to make a fuss about, but then you hadn’t seen Vicey when 
she tried those gloves on looking at those pretty hands of hers and 
then when one wouldn’t button saying she thought the little 
bit that showed through was quite as fetching as the whole 
hand. 

‘‘I should have blown up Edward Clayton more, only Joey, who 
had been very silent for a long time, suddenly said, ‘A lady or 
a gentleman ? ’ and I couldn’t think at first what he meant. Then 
I remembered that I had told him when I wasn’t there he must 
ask to have his nose wiped if he couldn’t do it himself. So I said 
* Oh, your nose ! Why, a lady, of course ! Gentlemen don’t know 
how.’ And then Edward Clayton had to be explained to and Joey 
and I only just got in in time for dinner. But I went on thinking 
over Vicey just where Edward Clayton had interrupted. . . 

And then a page is torn off, and the juvenile flirtations and 
Herne Bay beach and Joey’s nose all vanish in an instant, and 
I awake to the fact that I am chilly, that the fire wants attending 
to (even as Joey’s nose did) and that Betsy Austin, when she 
did my room up this morning, didn’t do any oil into my lamp. 
I pay the penalty of a hatred of gas — a hatred which rejects 
its services; and my lamp will grow dimmer and dimmer, and I 
shall turn it up and prolong short instalments of life, and spoil 
the wick. Suppose I show resolution and blow it out! I will, 
and do. I also break a coal that has been out of sympathy with 
the rest of the fuel, and force it to take a part in public life. It 
flares, and I can now see to carry the lamp into the passage, 
that it may poison some one else. Then I open the window, and 
admit some fresh air, and a great deal of fresh fog. It is better 
than Parafiin. As soon as the relative values of chill and stench 
give a good average unpleasantness, I shut the window. 

There is one more Herne Bay letter, a long one. But it is on 
Other paper, probably local, which has not taken the ink well and 


JOSEPH VANCE 


85 


will be difficult to decipher. And it is late as I write — and my 
eyesight has its limits. The remains of the firelight will do to 
get to bed by, but not to decipher a letter. 

I will sit here a little in the half -dark and try to look forward 
and backward — forward to the next letter I shall read, backward 
over the long perspective of the years between. 

What do I care to know about in that next letter? I feel a 
sort of interest about what will come of the flirtation, only being 
sure that nothing substantial came of it (or I should have known), 
that interest is perfunctory. I rather want to know what Dr. 
Thorpe thought of the two young Seftons and their cousin when 
he came by the boat the week after. But what I really — really — 
want to find in that next letter is some further allusion of Dossiers 
to the small boy who gathered the pears and had the funny 
accent, and whom her father was going to send to school because 
of his aptitude for Euclid. 

It is so strange to think that she is living now! If only she 
could come in at that door and I could see her face again by the 
flicker of this fire that is dying! But I look back through 
five decades, and at the far-off end see an ill-controlled lock of 
sunny hair that will not leave the long eyelashes of two grey- 
blue eyes untickled. And a very small boy in London wondering 
whether Miss Lossie at Herne Bay recollects him, even as the 
old man he has become still wonders how if on reading that next 
letter he will find a record of that, recollection. 

Lossie begins her next letter from Heme Bay by saying she 
had hoped Vicey and her admirer had fallen out. But 

It was only that they quarrelled because he was irreligious, or 
Vicey said he was. She says he admitted that he only went to 
Church because she did, and Vicey says if that isn^t Atheism she 
should like to know what is. I could have told her what Bobert 
said on the steamboat, which I suppose was Atheism too, only I 
thought it wouldn^t be fair to Robert, who said it in confidence to 
the others. However, unfortunately it didn’t last, and now they 
are reconciled again, and Vicey told me last night that Robert is 
really at heart a thoroughly religious young man only not in sym- 
pathy with empty forms. I asked her if Church was an empty 
form, and she said of course I could twist her words to mean any- 
thing I liked, but the meaning was perfectly clear to any un- 
prejudiced person. So I went to sleep and dreamed that Vicey 
was talking about the Archbishop of Canterbury all night” 


66 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Sept. 5. 

‘‘I left this letter unfinished yesterday and must try to get it 
done for this post. I^m really glad we are coming back so soon, 
because Vi and Robert Sefton have got to be quite a nuisance. 
Last night I saw there was going to be a revelation, and no sooner 
were Vicey and I in bed than Vicey begins: ‘Lossie darling, now 
do be a ducky and don’t go to sleep just yet, because I’ve something 
I want to tell you.’ So I said I was just off, and she would hav^ 
to look alive. And she said, ‘ Oh, well, now I do call that unfeel- 
ing — if you wanted to tell me about an Offer you'd had, I shouldn’t 
be so unkind/ So I said had she had a love-letter from Theo- 
phrastus Absalom — ^because you know it was him just before we 
came away. And Vi repeated his name with withering scorn, a 
syllable at a time. ‘No, it was not Theophrastus Absalom, nor 
even my little Joey Vance’s big brother, if he had one. But 
there! I knew perfectly well who it was, only if I was going to be 
unsisterly she would go to sleep.’ I said very well only not to pull 
all the clothes to her side. Then she melted and became pathetic, 
and said that she and Robert loved one another 'dearly, and neither 
of them had ever cared about anybody else before, and it was so 
hard to have nobody to sympathize with, and wouldn’t I tell Aunty. 
I said I thought Aunty would be jealous at having her new sweet- 
heart taken away, and V. said very well if I wouldn’t be serious 
she would go to sleep. So I said what on earth was I to tell Aunty, 
and she said tell her they were engaged. And I said stuff! they 
couldn’t be engaged without anybody’s consent. She said be- 
trothed then. And it was a solemn matter whatever a chit like me 
might think. She was going on that she was Robert’s and Robert 
was hers, and it was Destiny, when I went off to sleep. And next 
morning I told her not to be a goose. And it was Theo Absalom 
till a month ago whatever V. may say to the contrary. As for 
my dear little Joey Vance, my other Joey I call him, that was only 
the nearest fling she could get at me, only as he’s so small and 
such a baby that you could take him on your knee and kiss him, 
she couldn’t well say him — so she said his big brother! I wonder 
what Mr. Penguin will make of Master Joey. He gives himself 
airs enough about his System of Education. Papa wrote that he 
had seen his Mother about him, and thought he saw why the child 
is clever. The father he says is evidently a man of ability quenched 
in beer, but trying hard to burn up, and the mother a good and 
affectionate woman with a curious paradoxical inconsistency (all 
these phrases are Pa’s) that shows a certain stirring of the brain. 
He had noticed her before among the poor people at the Savings 
Bank.” 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


87 


I suppose few people ever experience a stranger sensation than 
mine as I read the foregoing record of Dr. Thorpe’s first im- 
pression of my parents; of the effect they produced on the man 
whom I have always accounted a second father, and surely one 
of the truest friends that it ever was man’s lot to possess. And 
his impression was so accurate. The “ ability quenched in beer ” 
grated on me a little. But I am forced to acknowledge its truth. 
Had it not been for the additional stimulus supplied to my 
Father’s resolution towards temperance by the feeling that his 
Joey had really got a New Latin Book, and was being brought 
up a Scollard, may it not easily be that the powers of the Magic 
Board might have been overtaxed? Little things turn the scale, 
even against the nasty liquid that the British Working-man has 
made his God, and this consideration thrown in may just have 
made the difference in my Father’s life. Anyhow, a thousand 
souls that might have burned up are daily quenched in beer. 

I know all these letters of Lossie’s would have produced on me, 
had I read them as a stranger, an entirely different impression 
of their author from the one the little semi-ragamuffin received 
from the (to him) glorious vision that burst suddenly on him at 
Poplar Villa. Probably the former would be the truer, and would 
be generally in harmony with the epithets we have heard bestowed 
on Miss Lossie. Did not that lady, Miss Shuckford Smith’s half- 
sister, say she was a Piece of Goods? and her Father testify that 
she was a young Puss, and her sister that she was a Chit? Can 
these epithets be made to harmonize with a small boy’s experience 
that a sort of Angel has stooped out of Heaven to him in a 
flood of warm light, and left him with a budget of most precious 
events to narrate to his Mother? Well — ^yes — I should say it was 
the most natural thing in the world. Only one point needs a 
marginal note; that is the change in the ages of the young, es- 
pecially girls, in this past half-century. I have remarked my- 
self, and have heard it remarked by other old-stagers, that a girl 
now is often no older at twenty than one of sixteen in his boy- 
hood. I should say probably Lossie at this present time would 
have been, at sixteen, what she then was at fifteen. Making a 
slight allowance for this, the dazzle appears to me the most 
natural thing in the world. Especially as it comes back in full 
force from reading letters in which I now see exactly what Lossie 
seemed like then to other people. 

Why wasn’t I overwhelmed also by Miss Violet? She was just 
as pretty, indeed in most folks’ eyes a good deal more so. She 
was more lien mise, and had about her more of the young woman 


88 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


and less of the mowing girl than Lossie. There might have been 
another year between their ages, all to go to Violet^s score. But 
I wasn’t her slave in the least. I only just looked at her that 
day I picked the pears, and then glued my eyes on Lossie. In a 
certain sense I have never taken them ofi. 


CHAPTEK XI 


A VERT SHORT CHAPTER ABOUT HOW JOEY WENT TO MR. PENGUIN^S 
SEMINARY, OR ACADEMY. NEVERTHELESS, IT TELLS HOW HE DID 
LATIN WITH LOSSIE’s ARM ROUND HIM. 

Some arrangements must have been made between the Doctor 
and my Mother about my furbishing up for Penguin’s; as I was 
so very smart when I presented myself on opening day in com- 
pany with Nolly, as an experienced guide. I suspect I looked 
very much like him two years before, as I believe I profited by; 
his old wardrobe. It was a very nice fit, and I felt puffed up. 

In case it should strike you that I have said, or do say, very 
little about Nolly, I hereby declare that this is not that I did 
not love him, for we soon became very lies, but because when a 
life is absolutely and entirely devoted to gloating over a new 
cricket bat, a set of lancewood stumps the full size, four bails 
(and two over ip case of loss), and two seven-and-sixpenny red 
balls with beautiful stitching, that life loses interest for an un- 
feeling world which does not care to wire in and gloat too. The 
practice of Platonic bowling (explanation needless to parents and 
guardians), and the property of yielding Linseed Oil like a secre- 
tion, belong to this phase of boyhood. 

I can only remember one remark of Nolly’s as we walked to 
Penguin’s. It was Picklethwaite says Dark’s are better than 
Clapshaw’s — I think Clapshaw’s better than Dark’s. Mine are 
Clapshaw’s”; which referred to the qualities of bats. Otherwise 
Nolly was silent, dreaming about wickets. 

Wlien we got to school Nolly put aside his inner visions for 
the moment, and vouchsafed information. I have since seen 
reason to believe it was all wrong. For instance, he represented 
to me that a boy in spectacles, who sniffed suddenly at intervals 
like a mimite-gun,, was the younger son of a noble family all of 
whom had this unpleasant habit, besides being for the most part 
in lunatic asylums; that another always got off scot-free what- 
ever mischief he did, because his father was a prize-fighter of 
whom Penguin stood in bodily fear; that one of the ushers 
occasionally came out all over bright-blue spots which had to 

89 


90 


JOSEPH VANCE 


be removed with powerful chemicals. And so forth. So I felt I 
was beginning to see the world. Nolly believed all these state- 
ments, and wasn’t hoaxing. He had been told them by others. 
Big Boys, and passed them on to me. 

I remember most clearly on that morning at Penguin’s the 
horror and indignation of the undermaster who took myself and 
other new boys in charge, at my comparative backwardness in 
reading and writing; for of course I was behind the other boys of 
eight and nine, after such a scrappy grounding as I had had. I 
soon made up for it after, but on this first day Mr. Cupples, the 
sub in question, made me the object of popular derision. How- 
ever, it was necessary that I should start neck and neck with my 
maturer companions, and the new Latin and French books were 
served out accordingly, and I carried them back with pride to 
ask Dr. Thorpe to write my name in them. 

Dr. Thorpe was in his library up a ladder, absorbed in a book 
he had taken out from the top shelf. Nolly deemed it due to 
his function as guide to usher me in with ‘^Here’s little Vance, 
Pater, wants you to write his name in his new School Books.” 
And the Doctor said little Vance must wait a minute. Then 
Nolly said to me, as an instruction from superior experience, 
‘‘You wait there till the Governor comes down,” and ran off to 
gloat a little over his Cricket Bat. And presently the Doctor 
came down, and picked little Vance up and held him out to look 
at (for I was very small) and said, “ Well, you’re not a very big 
new schoolboy.” And I replied (being still at arm’s length), 

“ Please, Sir, I was to thank you ” And he put me down and 

said, “ Good Boy ! And now let’s look at the Books.” And then 
he wrote my name in the Latin Book, and said, “ This pen 
splutters,” and changed it for another to do the French Book. 
And when he had put my name in both, he went up the ladder 
again, and I carried my books off, longing to show them to Miss 
Lossie every bit as much as Nolly longed for his superior Bat. 

1 heard Miss Lossie’s voice and her sister’s, and the noise 
called Visitors going on in the drawing-room, with the occasional 
genteel murmur of Aunt Izzy; whose deafness at the moment I 
came near the door had led her into some misapprehension, for 
I heard Lossie’s raised voice saying, emphatically, “No, Aunty 
dear, not serpents — servants/' and then Aunty saying, “Well, 
dear, you needn’t shout so ! Of course I understood that I hadn’t 
heard the word right. Because serpents couldn't forget to post 
a letter.” Then I felt with satisfaction that the Visitors were 
intensifying and going to climax, and while they did so I sup- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


91 


pressed myself to pounce on Miss Lossie as she returned through 
the passage, evidently intent on recapitulating the Visitors with 
Miss Vi and her Aunt in the drawing-room. 

“Well, now,” cried she, “I declare here’s Joey Vance himself! 
Looking quite smart and a real schoolboy with books. Come in 
and have cake.” 

The real Joey was busy with the cake, and I am sorry to say 
exclaimed as Miss Lossie led me in, “ He’th not to have that 
peeth. — I’m going to have that peeth.” 

“ He shall have that very piece and no other,” said Miss Lossie, 
giving it to me, “ and you’re a horrible selfish little Monster, if 
ever there was one I ” 

“ Then,” said the Monster, “ I’ll have that big peeth.” And 
Miss Lossie said, “ Indeed you shan’t — you know very well that 
that big piece is The Cake itself. Now be a dear good little boy 
and finish the piece you’ve got, and if you don’t burst perhaps 
you shall have a little piece more. We shall see!” 

“We thall thee,” repeated Joseph. Then fixing me with his 
eye, like the Ancient Mariner, he added, “ He’th got on Nolly’s 
jacket, and Nolly’s towthers, and Nolly’s wethcoat ” 

“Yes, Miss Lossie, please,” said I. “And they fit exactly. 
And Mother said I couldn’t be too grateful, and I’m not. Please 
thank you so much!” I saw I had said something wrong, as they 
all laughed, and I suppose I turned red. But Miss Lossie set it 
to rights, saying, “ Never mind ! You’re a dear little chap, and 
as for my Joey, he’s dear, but his manners are awful. Let’s see 
the Books.” I exhibited my new books. And Miss Vi, who hadn’t 
condescended to take any notice of me, remarked, “I suppose 
you don’t suppose the child understands Latin Exercise Books 

“ Of course he doesn’t, Vi dear,” said Lossie. “ But he’s going 
to. Aren’t you, Joey?” 

“If,” said Miss Violet, “you’re going to go on calling both 
those boys Joey, I shall soon be in a Lunatic Asylum.” 

“Very well, Vi darling! I’ll take pity on the other Lunatics, 
and call one Joe and the other Joey. Don’t be miffy, dear! ” 

And Miss Violet (being also kissed) was mollified and settled 
down to a work of fiction with the remark, “But it is trying, 
Lossie dear, and you know it.” Perhaps the relations of these two 
sisters to one another might be described as continual sparring 
with very soft gloves. There certainly was no ill will, as between 
them. But I was not popular with Violet. 

“Very well, then,” said Lossie. “Now we start fair. You’re 
Joe, and Joey’s Joey.” But Joey said, “I wanth to be Joe, and 


92 


JOSEPH VANCE 


the Boy Joey/’ and Lossie replied, ‘^Just as you please, only 
that way you shan’t have another piece of Cake.” — Then anuvver 
peeth of Cake,” said Joey, and conceded the point. 

‘‘Now, Joe dear,” said Lossie. “You and me can do Latin 
Exercises in peace.” 

I wish all my Latin Exercises could have been done like that 
one, with an arm round me whose hand pinched and patted my 
cheek, and then went further round to adjust that rebellious 
lock of hair. 

“I know all about this,” said Lossie. “Because I did it all 
with Nolly a year and a half ago. Sum — es — est, sumus — estis — 
sunt. Nolly wasn’t at all a dab at it, and I ‘ had to help him. 
We translated all the English sentences into Latin as far as — 
as far as something about the Decemvirs.” 

I was just going to say that I had come across that august 
body while inspecting the book outside, while the Visitors faded 
away, when it became clear that Aunt Izzy was making a remark. 

“ We really must remember to call on them,” she said. “ It’s 
six months ago, and they are going to Torquay for the winter. 
Do remember, please, Violet ” 

“But, Aunty dear, you carit call on them. They’re Ancient 
Romans and dead and buried long ago.” 

“ I can’t hear what you say, Lossie,” said Miss Izzy. “ I never 
can. You speak so fast! But I know the Miss Hennekers are 
going to Torquay, and it would look so, if we never returned 
their visit!” 

“We didn’t say Miss Hennekers — ^we said Decemvirs.” And 
Vi had to shout close to her Aunt, who replied, “ Well, but I said 
Miss Hennekers.” And Decemvirs had to be written on a piece 
of paper, and explained as being some Latin nonsense in an 
exercise book of Mr. Vance’s little boy. I felt hurt at the 
Decemvirs cutting so poor a figure, having acquired as it were 
a vested interest in them. But I was consoled by the allusion to 
my Father as an Established Person. Indeed, it became clear to 
me in the course of this visit that he had acquired great kudos 
by his address in putting the drains in their proper places, and 
removing them from daily conversation. As Miss Violet said, at 
any rate now it wasn’t drains, drains, drains all day long! 

“Never mind them, Joe,” said Lossie. “We shall never get 
half an exercis-i done at this rate. Here’s Miss Shackleworth. 
Miss Shackleworth knows Latin, and will tell us what ‘ Caesar 
.Gallos vincit’ is ” 

, Miss Shackleworth was the governess who had neuralgia, and 


JOSEPH YAHCE 


9Q 

she was equal to the occasion ; but when Lossie read, — ^Pharetra 
caret sagittas — sagittis?’ — what’s pharetra?” she said, ^‘No, 
Miss Lossie, I am not going to show off.” I have often been 
reminded of this discretion of Miss Shackleworth when gentle- 
men have been cruelly asked by ladies to translate for them Latin 
inscriptions, say for instance modem Latin on pedestals of 
Statues, or tombstones. They have been so unwilling to show off. 

‘‘Well then, Joe, never mind! We’ll do without pharetra. 
You’ll be able to tell me to-morrow.” 

“ Oh yes,” said I. “ Oy’ll find out. 0/11 be sure to. And 
come to tell you to-morrow.” For I really believed Miss Lossie 
wanted to know the meaning of pharetra. 

“ There’s that child oying again,” interposed Violet from her 
abstraction over the book. “ I think you might try to make him 
say Z, like a Christian.” 

“Now, Joe, you hear what you’ve got to say.” Thus Lossie; 
and I, having misunderstood, repeated after Violet, “ Miss Violet 
loikes a Christian.” Then Aunt Izzy wanted to know what every 
one was laughing at. And what the difficulties of explanation 
were I leave you to imagine ! 

In the middle Lossie took me away to see a large picture of 
Rome, where the people spoke Latin. Joey accompanied us about 
the house, and I was such a happy little boy, and I think Miss 
Lossie liked it. 

And now it is all so long ago that it is little over twenty times 
as long that folk still spoke Latin in old Rome! 

In looking back over any past there is always some sad note in 
the harmony, some black thread in the weft, that one did not 
notice at the time. Now that I look back on Poplar Villa, with 
the help of Lossie’s letters and my own old age, always the 
reviver of early memories, I see this black thread — ^then unsus- 
pected, now plain. Lossie spoiled Joey. With another child the 
conscientious effort she made not to spoil him might have been 
enough. But I see now that discipline was wanted, and Joey 
never had it. What came about was perhaps not all to be laid 
at his door. Let us blame him as little as possible ! 


CHAPTER XII 


MORE ABOUT PENGUIN’s. SOMEWHAT OF THE SACRED CULT OF GENTLE- 
MAN. HOW JOE WAS PROMOTED TO A REAL PUBLIC SCHOOL, AND HIS 
IMPRESSIONS OF IT. 

I REMEMBER, on the whole, very little of my schooldays, either at 
Mr. Penguin’s or, later on, at St. Withold’s at Helstaple, where Dr. 
Thorpe held a Life-Governorship and was able (backed by a suc- 
cessful pass-examination on my part) to get me a presentation. 
All schoolboys’ experiences are very much alike, and unless I were 
to invent incidents I could tell very little about my own schools 
that you have not read before. Perhaps I remember most of 
Mr. Penguin’s. This gentleman may have been what his scholars 
alleged, an Awful Old Ass, but he had one high merit, that of 
letting his boys get out of his sight as little as possible. This 
minimized the opportunities for Diabolism which the Schoolboy 
regards or regarded as his birthright, and which is or was a 
sacred tradition in our really respectable old schools. I did not 
become acquainted with this fact until I was initiated into the 
mysteries of St. Withold’s. 

Perhaps the recollection left in his mind of any boy’s school- 
days is in the inverse proportion of the amount of his attention 
to his lessons; and maybe that is why I remember so little of 
mine! For no sooner was I given books and tasks than I very 
nearly neglected healthful play and plunged straight into the 
acquisition of knowledge. I was a perfect Helluo librorum, even 
when the books were exercise books and called upon me to trans- 
late unconnected statements into Latin; as for instance, — The Cruel 
Slave-dealer anticipates the Scarcity — The Circumstance occurs-to 
the Brother-in-law — The Citizen encourages the Enthusiast — and 
so forth ! I am not quite sure these are exact, but 
they are not far out. I know I translated large quantities of 
them at a great rate with the assistance of appropriate vocab- 
ularies at the foot of each exercise. But I certainly felt a new 
interest in Literature when I came to all Gaul being divided into 
three parts, and was actually “doing” Csesar. As for Euclid, I 
simply read Euclid as Miss Violet read Novels. I was, in fact, 

94 


JOSEPH VANCE 


95 


to borrow my Father’s expression when I started out with him to 
keep him away from the Roebuck, a Young Nipper that asked 
questions as if I was a blooming grandmother, and that usually 
succeeded in getting his questions answered. 

At the end of the first term I was doing quite a lucrative trade 
in other boys’ lessons. I always did Nolly Thorpe’s for nothing, 
for love of Miss Lossie, and must have been one cause of Nolly’s 
extreme backwardness. But when an unprepared boy came to me 
just ten minutes before class-time with, I say, little Vance, don’t 
be an Ass, but tell me what’s The Climate of Africa Enervates 
the Centurion”; or, “I say, little Vance, don’t be an Ass, but tell 
me what’s left when you divide this by twenty-seven,’^ I usually 
demanded a raised pufi with red in the middle in return for the 
information asked for. I can’t say I don’t remember an applica- 
tion without the exordium above cited, but it was at any rate a 
very favourite form of speech. 

I cannot describe the joy and pride with which, after my visit 
last described at Poplar Villa, I carried home my new class- 
books in their new strap and showed them to my Mother. I can 
remember the smell of the new binding, and the way the cut 
leaves stuck together, and the name in them which Dr. Thorpe 
(as their donor)- had written for me on the shiny fly-leaves. A 
short time ago I turned over some old books I found in a bundle, 
and my eye was caught by my own name in Dr. Thorpe’s writing 
on a fly-leaf of a coverless book. It was Croker’s Latin Exercises 
for Beginners, and the thought that came (or thought of coming) 
first into my mind was that surely that was My New Latin Book — 
I still regarded it as per se new, and only accidentally old through 
lapse of years. But the ink-splutter caught my eyes, and I recol- 
lected how black and shiny it looked when it was new. 

And it was that very book I carried home, and that made my 
Mother say, ^‘Well — tWe now, Joey — to think of that! What 
your Father always do call you — a young Beginner! And only 
to thinlc it’s Latin you’re going to begin! Why, you’ll be begin- 
ning French next ! ” 

“ Oy’m beginning French too ! Look here ! ” said I, and pro- 
duced My New French Book. And my Father, who was waver- 
ing between satisfaction at my prospects and a desire to throw 
doubts on the advantages of Education, said, “ Two jobs on hand 
the Nipper has! Both foring. Well! When I was a young man 
there warn’t all this here lamin’. We had to do without it, and 
we did without it.”— My Mother said my Father was no such 
great shakes to boast on when all was said and done. And my 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Father said he’d have another pipe anyhow, eddication or no ! His 
good humour may have been the result of his satisfaction about 
myself, or because Dr. Thorpe had just paid his account in full 
without complaint or deduction. Or it may have been because 
he had another job. For it soon became so very common for my 
Father to have another job, that the neighbourhood began to say 
Vance was very close with his money, it being assumed that he 
made large profits. But the truth was that Vance, swayed in 
some way by the Magic Board, was going almost without money 
in order to get himself suspected of having a great deal. He 
spent the proceeds of each job in making the next job believe he 
was handling Capital, and succeeded to admiration. Of course 
he never did anything himself, except measure. I don’t believe 
he ever touched a trowel or a spade after that day at Poplar Villa. 
iThe young man William, or Villiam, caught on, and showed 
always a touching faith in the reality of his employer. He had a 
happy faculty of communicating this to others; speaking with 
conviction in Public-House Bars of Vance’s Job over acrost 
yander, and suborning any number of confiding Navigators when 
wanted. A single excess of the Roebuck sort, leading to a rash 
wager on homing pigeons, or to one of his payments being put 
upon a horse, and never coming off, might have led (as my 
Mother once said to Mrs. Packles) to my Father’s prospects being 
shipwrecked in the bud. But I do believe the little man with the 
truck was a gnome, and that the Board had Cabalistic properties. 
Anyhow, as we shall see in due course, the bud was properly 
navigated — but perhaps I had better not try to complete the 
mixed metaphor. I will go back to Penguin’s. 

It was at Penguin’s that I first became aware of the Classes and 
the Masses. For Nolly* Thorpe, who was charged to introduce me 
among his schoolmates, felt it incumbent on him (in a school 
where the boarders wore real hats to go to church) to indicate my 
extraction truthfully. Perhaps he might have softened it. He 
might have said my Father was a tradesman whom his Governor 
employed. Or he might have suggested that my parents were 
Reduced, and had been unable to have me taught to aspirate my 
H’s. But to say, even in confidence, to other boys that I was only 
a Little Blackguard out of the Street was, I think, harsh. I did 
not feel it so at the time, for when I was told that it was un- 
doubtedly true because Thorpe had told Pott’s big brother so, I 
merely remarked that I could lick Pott’s big brother and went on 
writing out my informant’s CsDsar for him. 

If you feel inclined to blame Nolly and to say he must have 


JOSEPH VANCE 


97 


been an odious boy, you will be wrong. He was not odious at 
all. He only reflected the Gentleman-Cult of his school. I for 
one have always thought leniently of this cult. Eor as long as an 
artificial stimulus is necessary to keep boys (and men) out of 
the gutter, will it not serve as well as another? And it does serve 
its turn. Which of us has not seen, at one time or another in 
his life, some depraved beast, some filthy abortion of imbecility 
and inhumanity, stung to common decency, if only for a moment, 
by being reminded that he is a Gentleman? 

Clearly the boys (it may be said) at Penguin’s were not real 
Gentlemen’s sons ; because no real ones would talk of any boy as a 
Little Blackguard out of the Street. But they did, and I never 
heard any doubt thrown on the paternity of the pupils. And I 
got to be spoken of as The Little Blackguard rather affectionately 
than otherwise, and after a few terms my rather anomalous posi- 
tion was such that it was not uncommon to hear “ Well — ^let’s ask 
the Little Blackguard ” as the final conclusion of some dispute on 
a point of Scholarship. Of course there was an intermediate 
regime before this happy state of things was arrived at, in which 
several deadly combats occurred. But it was not a long one, and 
my position of intellectual superiority once established remained 
unquestioned until I left Penguin’s for Helstaple. 

St. Withold’s at Helstaple is well known, not only as a school 
that turns out all its scholars Men and Gentlemen, and qualifies 
them to bear their part in the battle of Life, with a due regard 
to the traditions of the class they belong to, but as a most interest- 
ing example of Late Decorated and Early Perpendicular. For it 
has a Late Decorated Cloister and an Early Perpendicular Dining 
Hall, of the former of which as much remains as has survived its 
judicious restoration thirty years since. Of the latter it may be 
said that nothing remains, in the most aggressive sense of the 
words, for there is not a new stone but is clamorous in its asser- 
tion that it has replaced an old one, and that it is quite satisfied 
with itself and confident that it will not be destroyed by fire like 
its predecessor. There is nothing that grates on one’s memory of 
an old building, familiar in early years, like the intrusive clean- 
ness and impertinent accuracies of its substitute. For in spite of 
its drawbacks, I loved the old place! I loved the historical as- 
sociation of the old Benedictine Priory, and was soon able to 
people it in imagination with fanciful individualities bearing the 
names to be found in its Chronicles. One I particularly remem- 
ber as an idea having nearly the force of a sensation. He was 
Prior Anselm, and he used to spend a good deal of time on the 


98 


JOSEPH VANCE 


river-walk among the willows and alders, watching the trout leap 
and the water-spiders wait for refreshments with one pair of eyes 
below looking for a bite, and another pair above on the lookout 
for a possible biter. Prior Anselm was rather like them as he 
looked down at the trout that were one day to come to table, and 
at the same time kept fixed on Heaven an eye to contingencies. 
If I were suddenly asked if I ever really saw the Ghost of Anselm 
I am by no means sure that my denial would be unhesitating. I 
* should waver half a second. For as ships seen on opposite offings, 
when we are between them, become two ships on one offing when 
our steamer leaves them becalmed half-an-houFs journey behind, 
so does the long gap between now and St. Withold’s make Prior 
Anselm nearly as real to me as the Rev. Dr. Boyce 'Lasher, who 
was the Principal in my time. 

The effect that all men^s schooldays seem to have on them is 
such that I am no way surprised at mi/self when I catch it saying 
to itself something about the dear old place, and how jolly it was 
in the water-meadows, and what fun we had in the dormitories 
over secret nocturnal feasts, and paper chases through the woods, 
and cricket and football and so on and so on — Oh dear, yes! of 
course it was a dear old place, and even Old Lasher, you know, 
all we boys loved him, etc., etc., etc. 

Because, you see, that time is gone and can never come again. 
And none who were not there can gainsay us. We will have it 
so ! It was a dear old place, and there’s an end on’t ! 

All the same it might have been a dearer old place still if none 
of the boys had been Devils Incarnate. Whether it was really 
necessary as a foundation for subsequent Gentility that a boy 
should inflict nameless tortures in cold blood on one younger 
and weaker than himself I do not know, because it is a point that 
depends upon its adjudicator’s standard of gentility. I was, with- 
out question, by extraction (and very imperfect extraction) a 
Little Blackguard out of the Street, and I knew no devilries worse 
than those of the Beer-Maggot class from which I sprang. There 
were plenty, for a race that lives in beer and on beer, and to all 
intents and purposes is beer as the cheese-maggot is cheese, can- 
not be expected to have a high ideal. But they were rather to be 
described as rough brutality than diabolism. My Father’s row 
with Mr. Gunn was a brutal one enough ; but young as I was, and 
nigh terrified to death, there was nothing in it to my thinking 
half so horrible as the acts of tyranny and cruelty to young boys 
that made up part of the daily life at St. Withold’s. Indeed, if 
I had to choose whether I would again go through the horrors of 


JOSEPH VANCE 


99 


that afternoon, or witness the obvious satisfaction of the rev. 
Principal when he had a good crop of victims for the birch, I 
should take the former. Yet the worthy Doctor’s enjoyment of a 
luxury which he and his forbears had indulged in for nearly three 
centuries was angelic by comparison with what went on among 
the boys themselves. I doubt, however, whether, if an examina- 
tion could be made of the subsequent lives of the boys of my 
time, it would be found that the ones who acquitted themselves 
best either as Men or Gentlemen ” were also the ones who were 
the most vigorous exponents of the traditions of St. Withold. 
There ought to be an approximate proportion between the extent 
of adoption of a system good in itself, and its beneficial effect 
upon the person who has adopted it. I admit that to do justice 
to it we ought to be able to accumulate a large number of 
instances. It would not be fair to take the case of the worst 
tormentor in my recollection, and put it down to St. Withold 
that he is now a convict; or that another boy who fought him in 
the cause of a lesser victim in defiance of school tradition — and 
was beaten badly, for justice is not always retributive — owed his 
formation of character in any degree to the Saint. My own im- 
pression of this last boy is that had he never breathed the bracing 
atmosphere of Helstaple, but been brought up as a milksop at 
home, he would have died exactly as he did in the Crimea five years 
later, refusing a’ nip of brandy as he lay dying. I’m done for,” 
said he, ‘^don’t waste it on me — ^give it to that chap !” It was the 
ruling passion strong in death, and a wounded Russian got the 
benefit of it. 

This is only a note by the way, to supply a reason why I do 
not dwell on my school experiences. I have no doubt they manage 
these things better now. Probably the fire which originated at 
night in a Dormitory close to the school-buildings opened the eyes 
of the governing body. For though it did not get into the news- 
papers it was whispered about that the first cause of the outbreak 
was a bottle of turpentine which was being used, or proposed to 
be used, in the pickling of an unpopular boy by his fellows. You 
scratch yourseK and rub in turpentine and feel what it feels likel 


CHAPTER Xm 


HOW JOE RETURNED FROM ST. WITHOLD, BUT WAS AFFLICTED BY HIS 
HAT. BUT WAS RELIEVED. MORE OF HIS FATHER’S LEAPS UP JN 
LIFE, joe’s reticence. 

The end of the first term at Helstaple was an embarrassing 
time for me. For glad as I was to get away from the process of 
being shaped as a Man and a Gentleman, I was miserably con- 
scious that the change I was supposed to be undergoing was sup- 
posed also to be a growing disfranchisement of my Father and 
Mother; a sort of constantly increasing discount of their claims 
to guardianship. Of course Dr. Thorpe never dreamed of the 
existence of such a feeling on my part, or it would have grieved 
him bitterly. In fact, I am inclined to think that in his estima- 
tion of the Respectability question. Dr. Thorpe was Early English 
or even Norman, and had nothing of Queen Anne about him. 

My clothes reproached me all the way up in the stage-coach, 
and on the railway, saying in chorus, ‘^You are going to show 
yourself in us, not only to your Father and Mother, but you will 
be detected sneaking in to change us by Mrs. Packles and Porky 
Owls, and they will denounce you to their circle as a stuck-upper, 
and will give reasons from their own experience why a presump- 
tuous departure from that circle will never lead to good. They 
will ascribe to you the haughty spirit that goes before a fall.” 
And the miserable little shiny genteel hat that was damning me 
in my own eyes as an impostor added on its own account the un- 
deserved and unnecessary sting, ^‘You know your Father never 
had a hat like me!'* 

You may fancy, then, what a relief it was to find on my return 
to Stallwood’s Cottages that my Father had actually invested in 
a Hat! 

This Hat exercised, in conjunction with the Magic Board, so 
powerful an influence on my Father’s after life, that it is not to 
be dismissed with a mere announcement. It was the first thing 
I saw when I emerged from the embrace in which my Mother and 
I extinguished sight and speech, each on each, as I rushed into 

100 


JOSEPH VANCE 


101 


the little front room that Saturday in April ; or rather that Easter 
Sunday morning, for I did not get home till after twelve at night. 
Well for me, for the populace had gone to bed at the closing of 
the Roebuck, and I had escaped the derision of mankind! 

Yes, my darling dearest Boy,” said my Mother, your Father 
likewise. And he went to eighteen shillings by reason of Moral 
Influence, and well worth it at the money he said. And it’s that 
effective even Packles’s niece’s husband from Clapham says Sir, 
being found another job than Henderson’s, and equally satis- 
factory. But yours isn’t hurt though the corner just rubbed — 
so pick it up off the floor, and hang it on the other peg for Father 
to see when he comes. Like that ! And here he is.” 

A great shout of joy and a similar greeting for my Father 
made him remark that the Nipper was the Nipper still for all his 
eddication. I felt that my character was being undermined by 
St. Withold perhaps, and that I might have to make a resolute 
stand against him. 

^^Two ’ats on two pegs,” continued my Father. ‘^It’s a mercy 
we ain’t Hooks with corrow-knights, a-swellin’ of it about ! 
What ever would become of your poor Mother, hay, Joey? Now 
I lay you’ve got a good twist for supper arter all that stage-coach 
and railwayin’, and while you’re a-eatin’ of it you can just tell me 
and Mother all you’ve been a-larnin’ at this here school.” 

I had the twist for supper, but was reserved about the school; 
being, in fact, resolved to keep the miseries I had witnessed and 
endured to myself as much as possible. Even in the first term 
the glorious traditions of the place had affected me, and I was 
already under the influence of Immemorial Usage. Besides, I had 
the resource of only referring to the events of the past week just 
before breaking up, when, in accordance with an anciei{t precedent, 
the functions of the birch-rod were suspended; and the big boys, 
softened to an artificial spirit of mercy, allowed the little boys 
an unwonted freedom from tyranny, and even had the brazen 
impudence to pose as their benefactors! So by referring only to 
this past week, which was easy, I soothed any suspicions on my 
parents’ part, if such existed, about the sort of treatment I and 
others experienced at the hands of St. Withold. Moreover, in 
spite of their enquiries about my school-life, as I sat down to a 
large chump-chop and potatoes (which I welcomed in spite of the 
late hour), their interest had flagged before I got to the pudding. 
In this they were not unlike the rest of their species, which when 
I begin telling it anything usually yawns in my face before the 
end of the first chapter. Have you not yourself been interrupted 


102 


JOSEPH VANCE 


again and again in your narrative of your symptoms by your 
friend^s anxiety to give details of his own; or indeed (if he was 
Mrs. Packles) to lay claim to afflictions precisely identical but of 
greater severity? I have been assured by artists that one serious 
nuisance of their lives is the perfect stranger’s soul-absorbing 
interest in their work; who, having on this pretext wedged him- 
self into their Studio, sits with his back to their pictures and 
talks about his own. 

So that, by the time I had recorded how I was at the head of 
all my classes, which was the case; and how the ice had given 
way on the lake and let six boys through, who were none of them 
drowned, but two were not expected to recover ; and *how Perkins 
tertius was put out of the window to go and buy things in the 
town after hours, and was caught coming back, but let off because 
of the holidays; and how the said Perkins’s brother, Perkins 
secundus, was my particular friend, only his father was an 
Undertaker and nobody knew it except me, — was beginning 
to feel that my listeners were on the lookout to take their 
turn. 

The most of my communication was, however, making my 
Father understand the expressions tertius and secundus, he being 
determined to make a parade of his want of scholarship. As he 
pointed out, had he received a University Education at Oxford 
College, he would have been able to match his knowledge of these 
terms against any man in England. There was some affectation 
in this as he certainly could have guessed their meaning from 
the context. His knowledge of human nature, however, supplied 
him with a clue to little Perkins’s impunity. — O’ coorse his 
Mother would have found it out within a week, if he’d been 
properly whopped, in the manner of speaking.” — I thought my 
Father very sharp, it never having occurred to me that conceal- 
ment from the parents of the pupils of St. Withold was an essen- 
tial part of the Saint’s system. He went on to indicate what he 
himself would do if entrusted with the care of four hundred pupils 
of all ages. — I should wallop ’em all black and blue on the first 
day of the month, and that ’d make ’em think.” 

‘‘You know you’d just do nothing of the sort, Vance dear,” 
said my Mother, “ it being well known that your failin’ is intox- 
icatin’ stimulants, except lately God be praised, but never ’arsh- 
ness to youth, and J oey there to witness to it.” 

“Very well, then,” said my Father. “In coorse you know 


JOSEPH VANCE 103 

Joseph about the ’ome of his birth — ^you^d better, or he’ll be 
asleep.” 

This waked me up, for indeed my long journey and the chump- 
chop and the reaction were making me a drowsy though happy 
boy; and I begged to know at once and not wait till to-morrow. 

“ Well, my dear, then,” said my Mother, we’re going away out 
of this house to a new one — this very house I married your 
Father into and the rent paid punctual ever since! Fifteen years 
next Michaelmas. And all five of you bom here, and four buried 
and gone to glory, Mr. Capstick hopes. Your elder sister Eliza- 
beth Ann after her great-aunt and died in teething. And your 
younger sister Jane in the fever, and your little brothers Chris- 
topher and Frederick also in teething. And yourself, my dear, 
Mrs. Packles and all the neighbours were wrong about, say in’ I 
never could possibly rear you, and there you are at the top of all 
your classes, and them to say so! And us to go away and leave 
the old cottage and go and live in a Residence and a little Orfice 
round the corner with a brass plate ” 

My Father postponed filling a pipe, but left his fingers in his 
tobacco pouch while he protested against this brass plate. 

Not if I knows it, Mrs. V.,” said he. “ That little board I 
bought off of that carackter with a ’and-cart, by name Isbister, 
three years and a half gone, that’s enough for a ’umble Builder 
like me. If I was Coobittses, that might be another soote of 
clothes. Bein’ what I am, as I says (follerin’ of Capstick), 
Contentment is my Lot, and let us pray accordin’! ” .. 

‘‘You go along,” said my Mother. “You to talk like that! 
And that ’at ’angin’ on that peg to testify contrairy. Here’s Joey 
a’most asleep ” 

Joey was, and was soon dreaming of a respectable Divine with 
small eyes and large teeth, and a birch-rod. 

I beg you will note particularly the indication of my Father’s 
growth of conviction of his professional status. His admission 
that he was “ not Cubitt’s ” contained an implication that he was 
not Cubitt’s in some sense in which Packleses laundry for in- 
stance was not “not Cubitt’s.” It suggested that Europe might 
be divided into two camps, one maintaining that he was, the other 
that he was not. What a colossal stride in three years and a haK ! 
Also observe that the little Orfice round the corner was accepted 
as a sort of Builder’s birthright. I felt an intuitive certainty 
that such an Office and such a Hat carried with them Books as an 
inevitable corollary, and an Office Clerk; and had I known a little 
more than I did then of Business, I should have been able to 


104 


JOSEPH VANCE 


predict that nothing when looked for would ever occur in the first 
Book consulted, but that a succession of references would be neces- 
sary while you waited; and that it would, in short, be Double- 
Entry. Certainly that little Man (whose name, it seems, my 
Father^s observant eye had seen somewhere on his hand-cart) was 
a travelling Magician, and my Father did most wisely to adhere to 
the Magic Board. 


CHAPTER XIV; 


AN UN-ACADEMICAL SUNDAY MORNING. CONCERNING HIS FATHEB^S 
NEW HOUSE, joe’s WALK TO POPLAR VILLA: BUT NO MISS LOSSIE ! 
HE TELLS HIS SCHOOL EXPERIENCES. ANTHROPOPHAGI. HE WILL 
FOLLOW LOSSIE, EVEN TO HAMPSTEAD. 

No human creature can be happier than the boy who wakes at 
home, on the morning after his return from school for the holi- 
days. Instead of being dragged away from unfinished sleep by 
an unfeeling bell, a dim sense that a benevolent Angel has said 
that you had better have your sleep out; instead of immediate 
conciliation of a tyrant who bullies you himself as a fee for his 
protection against others, a right to wash and dress yourself in 
peace; instead of a possible dose of filthy medicine before break- 
fast whether you are ill or no, breakfast itself; instead of tutelary 
geniuses whom ypu know you will have to stave off or evade for the 
rest of the day, parents conscious that compensation is your due, 
and not yet reawakened to the necessity of keeping even the best 
of Boys in check. No arrears of incompleted tasks or imposi- 
tions, no Prayers, for even had there been any in our house I 
should have been too late for them — in short, nothing but un- 
qualified home! 

I remember particularly what a sweet and soothing sound the 
Sabbath bells had for me on that delightful April morning, when 
I woke very late indeed, and realized from their difference from 
the Helstaple peal that I hadn’t got to go to church ! So you see 
my Mother let me have my sleep out. 

‘‘Likewise your Father may just as well have his,” said my 
Mother. And she went on to give me details of the premises and 
the little Orfice round the corner. — “Ackchly a back and front 
drawing-room, breakfast-room level with the kitchen, three large 
and two small bedrooms, commodious kitchen and scullery, at the 
moderate rental of forty-five pounds per annum. Only whatever 
I am to do with a servant, or without a servant! Your Father 
says I must learn to be waited on like my betters, but it’s hard 
to reconcile myself to it at my time of life, after all these years of 

105 


106 


JOSEPH VANCE 


cooking and cleaning up. Not but what,” added my Mother, 
with a touch of worldly pride, there have been servants in my 
family, for your Great-Aunt Elizabeth Ann^s half-sister Mrs. 
Barrel! had an establishment, with three, and a man to do the 
boots and odd jobs. I remember your Great-Aunt telling my 
Mother that he growled dreadfully in the kitchen, and shook the 
house. So I suppose I shall have to, too! — As your Father says, 
iPs only habit, and we must all get accustomed. But it don^t 
seem natural to leave off cleaning, and very likely a girl with 
followers, and a cook the worse. However, my dear, I mean to try, 
— as becoming to your Father’s position.” 

What a happy faculty my Mother had of presenting her ideas 
in lucid fragments! Even I, at eleven, could realize exactly her 
apprehension of her probable difficulties in a rise in life. Would 
it not almost be better to hold on to Stallwood’s Cottages at any 
cost? My Mother anticipated an enquiry that was coming as 
soon as I should dispose of a bite of toast and butter : — 

Why, no, Joey darling, bein’ there’s no room for expansion at 
St all wood’s Cottages, and would involve business premises else- 
where, though of course in the manner of speaking a heart-break 
to leave the old place — wherg^, indeed, I have been truly happy, 
without dissension and indeed seldom too much taken, owing as I 
think to your Father being held out of his employment by circum- 
stances for which I blame none and name no names. Besides, 
there is in the rear a plot of land with separate entrance from the 
side-road, in all respects suitable for the erection of workshops. 
To let on Building Lease for ninety-nine years from Lady-Day, 
of which your Father has secured the refusal.” 

Quotations from “ To Let ” bills seemed to work naturally and 
easily into my Mother’s syntax. I recognized their source; and 
as to the justice of the implication that my Father had been all 
his life a Master-Builder excluded by conspiracy from business, 
need I say that I loyally accepted it? I am not prepared to say 
I don’t believe it a little now. 

'' But I say, Mother,” said I, shall I sleep upstairs in a bed- 
room all to myself ? ” 

“ To be done out by the girl,” replied my Mother. « Only your 
bed I make myself whatever Vance may say! ” 

^'Wot’s Wance been a-sayin’ of?” said my Father, presenting 
himself in his braces and noiseless stockings from upstairs. 

Who’s a-pitchin’ into Wance? Pour me out my tea, old gal.’' 
And my Father heaved a deep sigh, which, however, was merely 
provisional in case he should happen to think of a grievance. He 


JOSEPH VANCE lOV 

really was in a most complacent frame of mind. However, ho 
succeeded in throwing his next remark into grievance-form. 

“ And here^s the Nipper only just this minute back, and I lay 
he’s only waitin’ to swallow down his breakfast to run away from 
his natural parents to his Popular Villa. And never commoo- 
nicating them none of his lamin’ what he’s been imbibin’ of this 
three months.” 

No, Daddy,” cried I, indignantly. Pm going to stop here 
all the morning and go after dinner. I don't want to run away 
from you and Mother.” In proof of which I went and sat on his 
knee. ‘‘Besides, Miss Lossie will be at church!” 

My Father closed one eye to express caution and secrecy, while 
with the other he affected to scan a remote horizon. 

“I see,” said he. “In coorse. Miss Looey will be at Church — 
in coorse she will ! ” But on the subject of Miss Lossie waggery 
slipped off me like drops off a sea-bird’s wing. I soared away into 
the heavens without noticing the water below. Dante might have 
been chaffed about the Signorina Portinari, but probably ho 
wouldn’t have understood. I knew my Father was chuckling, but 
didn’t enquire why. 

“Just a-tellin’ Joey, I was,” said my Mother, going back to the 
change of home, which evidently weighed on her mind, “that I 
should make his bed just the same in the new ’ouse. Also his 
things, there bein’ no dependence on girls, even when such that 
followers are out of the question, and higher wages taken on 
that account. Knowin’ as I have done a girl by name Sarah Car- 
stairs whose appearance was security itself, and avoided strickly 
by gentlemen and young men alike, but twelve pounds a year 
and not a penny less, being indeed honest and sober, but as I 
say ” 

“I want a ’ansum girl to open the front door,” said my Father, 
“ a regular Spanker ! ” 

“ Then Followers,” said my Mother. “ So sure as the sort you 
describe, Followers. And if Followers, then Consequences ! ” 

“ And then you bundles of ’em out. Consequences and all,” said 
my Father. “ And prob’ly you gives ’em a character for their 
next place when the Consequences has died in teething.” 

“But, Vance dear,” said my Mother, who had quite taken to 
heart the case of this purely imaginary Spanker. “ What’s to be- 
come of the poor girl, I ask you, in the meantime? Because it 
might be ever so long.” And my Father intimated that that was 
the Spanker’s lookout, but so long as she was in his house, a 
clean cap and apron, and to open the front door stylish. But 


108 


JOSEPH VANCE 


the cares of housekeeping with this attractive though non-existent 
young person on her hands depressed my poor Mother seriously. 

I could indeed see that she was conjuring up all sorts of night- 
mares in the way of housekeeping difficulties, and I could not at 
ten years of age pooh-pooh them from my own experience. If 
anything, I should have confirmed her fears. Eor in my many 
visits to Poplar Villa during my Penguin period, I had been much 
impressed with the frequent collisions between Aunt Izzy and the 
servants, and the emphasis with which the former denounced the 
moral worthlessness and incompetence of the latter. To be sure, 
Lossie usually took their part I Also I felt that my Mother wasn’t 
Aunt Izzy, very much indeed! So I hoped her fears were 
exaggerated. 

I made up my mind that I would ask Miss Lossie what she 
thought on this point as I walked along the road to Poplar Villa. 
But here was a disappointment! Miss Lossie had gone to Mrs. 
Spencer’s at Hampstead to stay over Monday, and had taken 
Master Joseph. The Doctor was in his Library — ^he always was. 
Anne suggested what I hesitated to ask, that she should tell the 
Doctor I had come. I said “ Please, yes ” — because the expres- 
sion You have come ” revealed to me that I was expected. 
VHiereas the expression ^^You are here” would not have done so. 
What nice phases there are in language! — I was told, after ap- 
plication above, to go up to the Library. 

‘‘Well, Joe! Back again? How do you like St. Withold’s?” 
The question was put in a form that enabled me to say “Very 
much ! ” If it had been a more searching one, as, for instance, 
“ How do you like being birched ? How do you like seeing other 
boys birched because they have made a false quantity? How do 
you like emetics as a digestive remedy? How do you like being 
bullied?” — had it been any such question I should have bowed to 
the Great Law which proclaims Secrecy as the whole obligation 
of life to the schoolboy. I should have lied, but with great re- 
morse of conscience. Probably the Doctor knew quite well that I 
should lie, and must lie, if he asked any questions the answers to 
which would reveal abuses. So he kindly held his tongue, and 
asked no more. I think he was right. Possibly he knew the, 
failings of the School, but not their extent, and not being pre- 
pared for a crusade on the subject, thought it best that I should 
“take my chance with the others.” Moreover, he had no choice 
of another school for his prot%e. 

“We’re looking very well, anyhow,” continued the Doctor, and 
I thought this form of speech suggested that he had to accept my 


JOSEPH VANCE 


109 


answer without probing it. “ What are the books ? Let^s hare a 
look — Sallust? And you’ve done all that this term. Yes, please! 
— I should rather think it was. Yes, please. And the Anabasis? 
How many parasangs have you and Xenophon marched? All 
that? Well done. Master Joseph Vance! And Colenso’s Al- 
gebra ” 

And I felt I had my reward, for the Doctor patted me on the 
shoulder as I leaned against his knee and we looked at the books 
together, for I felt his approval in his hand. 

Don’t you recollect. Doctor,’’ said I, getting garrulous, 
wrote that I thought Mr. Driver would get me put up to the 
second form at once, and they did it after the first preliminary 
Exam. The first form were awful muffs, and some older than 
me! Dr. Lasher said it was no use keeping a boy who could do 
Herodotus by himself in the first form ” 

When did you do Herodotus ? ” 

Why, ever so long ago ! Nolly couldn’t make something out, 
and I did it for him. And then I thought Herodotus looked so 
jolly that I borrowed it and did some of Melpomene by myself.” 

'‘But how did Dr. Lasher know about this?” 

“ Because in English Literature there was about anthropophagi 
and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders. And Mr. 
Driver said this showed what a lot Shakespeare knew, and that 
he must have read Herodotus. And I said to the boy next me 
that it wasn’t in Herodotus. And Mr. Driver said what had 
I said to Salter. And I told him, and he sent me to the bottom 
of the class for talking. And then he asked all the boys what was 
the meaning of anthropophagus — and they didn’t know. And I 
said Man-Eaters. And Mr. Driver said “You’re guessing, little 
Vance! Write out anthropophagus two hundred times for guess- 
ing, and two hundred times for saying it isn’t in Herodotus. And 
then I said it wasn't in Herodotus, because it was Androphagi in 
Herodotus. And old Driver looked and found I was right, and 
sent me up to the top of the class.” 

“ And did you write out Anthropophagus five hundred times ? ” 

“It was only two hundred,” said I, anxious for strict justice. 
“ No, I went to Mr. Driver after class-time, and said, ‘ Please, Sir, 
am I to write out Anthropophagus two hundred times ? ’ And he 
said, ‘ No — once would do this time ! ’ And he made me write it 
in Greek letters. Then he asked me what book of Herodotus it 
was in, and I said Melpomene. And he said ‘ Hm ! ’ But directly 
after the Examination, I was moved up. Please, when’s Miss 
Lossie coming back?” 


110 


JOSEPH VANCE 


This was sudden, but I felt that school trivialities had occupied j 
us long enough, and serious matters should be attended to. Hr. 
Thorpe laughed. 

She is coming back — sometime — at least, I hope so ! But as ! 
for wheUf that’s quite another pair of shoes. When a young lady I 
goes to see her dearest friend she stays as long as she can. How- 
ever, if we send Anne to fetch away Joey, she’ll borne too. Wee’ll 
put the calf in a cart and the cow will follow it. Suppose you 
walk over and see her. It’s only seven miles from here to Frog- j 
nail — are you game for seven miles?” I laughed seven miles to 
scorn. “ But it’s rather a cross-country,” said the Doctor. “ Per- 
haps you’d better walk to Charing-Cross, or ’bus, and get the | 
Hampstead ’bus from Charing Cross.” I 

“All right,” said I, with manly decision. “But won’t they 
mind ? ” | 

“ Who mind what ? ” said Dr. Thorpe. I 

“ The people where she is mind me ? ” ; 

“ Oh no ! They won’t mind you — or, look here ! Here’s a letter 
to forward to Lossie. I’ll just write a line to say you’re coming, I 
and you can post it.” 

So the Doctor wrote the line and put it in a separate envelope. ; 
“ If I had been mean,” said he, “ I could have slipped a little piece 
of paper inside the other envelope and sent my message for noth- j 
ing! You see, Joe, what an expensive luxury a good character is. | 
Now I must get on with my writing. Come again soon, in the 
evening.” 

And I posted the letter at the Tea-man and Grocer’s along the 
road, and went home rejoicing. 


CHAPTER XV 


aow JOE WALKED AND ^BUSSED TO LOSSIE IN HAMPSTEAD. HOW A 
LITTLE GIRL TALKED TO HIM, WHO PREFERRED DROWNING TO HANG- 
ING. HOW LOSSIE LIT JOE’s HEART UP; AND OF THE SPENCER 
MANAGE. LOSSIE MAKES JOE TROT ST. WITHOLD OUT AT THE FIRS ON 
HAMPSTEAD HEATH. HOW GLAD JOE WAS HE HAD TOLD NO MORE 
ABOUT HIS SCHOOL NIGHTMARE. 

I WAS in a mighty hurry, you may be sure, to get breakfast 
and start. And my Mother was equal to the occasion, providing 
poached eggs and bacon, to say nothing of jam and marmalade. 
It was so unlike the days when my Father used to appropriate 
more than his fair share of his salary at FothergilFs, to treat a 
good deal too many friends at the Roebuck much too liberally. I 
believe these friends all regarded him as a backslider seduced 
from the Communion of Drinks by the Apostles of Mammon, 
rather than as a Freethinker, or advocate of Temperance on moral 
grounds. I thought of this as I devoured my breakfast rapidly 
(which was quite needless, as I certainly did not save five minutes 
by doing so), and hoped in my heart that he would never slide 
forward again. 

‘‘You just go straight along the road as ever you can go and 
turn into the Wandsworth Road and keep right on and you can’t 
miss it.” Thus my Mother, whose further instructions I of 
course despised; the wayfarer always does despise instructions 
when assured that “he can’t miss it.” But it isn’t easy to miss 
London when you start within six miles of St. Paul’s, so I only 
lost a little time, and found a green Hampstead ’bus as directed 
at Charing Cross. My experience in this case was the reverse of 
the metaphysician’s who “ defined ” omnibuses as “ things that go 
in the opposite direction.” 

In those days Hampstead was in the country; indeed, if it had 
not been for an outcrop of suburban villas at Haverstock Hilb 
Mother Redcap would have been very nearly the limit of town. 
Omnibuses thought this tavern the edge of civilisation, and 
stopped a long time for refreshments and badinage before ventur- 
ing out into the wilderness. Mine was a very slow example, and 

111 


112 


JOSEPH VANCE 


must have whiled the best part of an hour between the Kedcap and 
the cowpond on the left of the road facing Downshire Hill. At 
this point I began to despair of ever reaching The Limes, which | 
was the name of Miss SpencePs father’s House. So I gave way j 
to impatience and walked up the hill. This piqued the omnibus, ; 
causing it to put an extra horse with a man on it in front, and 
to shout after me with triumph that I’d better ’a’ sat still an«8 j 
waited a minute. Perhaps I had, but then the omnibus had ap- 
peared to be chewing the cud at the bottom of the hill, in sympathy 
with the cows in the pond. 

Mr. Spencer (who was Dr. Thorpe’s Legal Adviser) lived in i 
one of three old red-brick-faced houses that had a front garden in : 
common, and a way in for carriages, like Poplar Villa. The 
respectability of The Limes alone would have given confidence in 
Mr. Spencer as a Legal Authority. But he had, apart from this, | 
as high a reputation for caution and responsibility as any solicitor I 
on the Rolls. Although if Professor Absalom’s view of him was ! 
correct, he had acquired his fame for the latter solely by an un- 
warrantable parade of the former quality. I once heard the Pro- 
fessor say to Dr. Thorpe, ^^My dear Thorpe, have you ever — in 
all your experience of Aldridge, Spencer, Spencer, and Aldridge — I 
known that Firm to give you, or any one else, a decisive piece of | 
advice ?’’ And Dr. Thorpe replied, ^‘My dear Absalom, if any | 
member of that Firm had done such a thing to me, I should have | 
lost all confidence in it at once. But the way in which Spencer i 
prefers to reserve his judgment is worth volumes of other people’s | 
shallow decisions.” ; 

I found my way to The Limes and got there just in time to avoid I 
a shower of rain. Miss Thorpe wasn’t in; but would be, and had | 
left word that I was to be accommodated with books to read until 
her return. So I was shown into a parlour that smelt of book- 
leather, horsehair, and conservatory, and had no one in it but a 
canary, who was singing very loud; and was given my choice of a 
volume, and preferred Peter Simple,” please — ^having indeed had | 
enough of the classics lately. I was just reading O’Brien’s I 
description of flapdoodle, ‘‘the stuff thiy feed fools on,” when I i 
became aware that I was an object of interest to a little girl about ' 
my own age, who had sighted me from a back room and was work- 
ing gradually up towards communication. As I saw her first i 
in a mirror on the table, and had only been seen by her reflection, 

I thought I wasn’t bound to take^any steps myself, and went on ! 
considering what O’Brien meant.'* I had informed myself about 
flapdoodle by the time the little girl had got so near that I felt I 


JOSEPH VANCE 


113 


couldn^t pretend any longer, and I looked up at the original of 
the reflection, which was a rather pretty and very serious little 
maiden manifestly sucking a peppermint drop. She looked at me 
with gravity for a few seconds, then asked if I should like one. I 
was not sure that it was good form to smell of peppermint in 
strange houses, so I said I didn’t care for it, which was untrue. 
The way was, however, paved for further advances. 

^‘Are you Miss Lucilla Thorpe’s Schoolboy that was expected 
^ and that’s to stop for lunch ? ” 

I said yes, with confidence. Miss Lossie had arranged it and 
that was sufficient. I thought the enquiry justified a question 
from me. 

Are you Miss Sarita’s sister Jane that’s seven years younger 
than she is, and called Grizzle for short ? ” Because though Miss 
Sarita herself was the only one of the family I had seen, I had 
picked up the family history. 

^^Yes — I’m Grizzle, or Janey — whichever people like to call me. 
iWhich will you?” I reflected a minute and decided on Janey. 
On which Janey added, ^‘And begin now!” I nodded once with 
my lips closed, as a pledge that I would do so on the next occa- 
sion, and then Janey said, looking straight at me with a pair of 
hazel eyes : “ What’s your name ? Because I can’t call you School- 
boy!” 

“My name’s Joe Vance. The boys call me little Vance, but 
not Joe. You call me Joe, please!” 

. “Joe, but not Vance! Very well — ^you’re very fond of Miss 
iLossie, aren’t you, Joe?” 
i “ Yes, very — aren’t you ? ” 

I “ Of course I am. But not so fond as Sarry is. She’s very 
j very fond of her. It goes by veries.” 

^ I felt that my education had been neglected but that now I 
1 knew. 

“I hope you’ve got a nice book to read — there’s plenty more 
I here if you haven’t. Oh yes! ‘Peter Simple.’ I’m so fond of 
^ Captain Marryat. They are capital books for boys.” I resented 
^ this as patronizing. “ But I like all books about the sea, because 
. I like the sea — I would ever so much sooner be drowned than 
^ hanged.” 

“But, I say, Janey!” My promise about calling her by her 
name was a little on my conscience, and I felt easier as soon as I 
had achieved it. “I say, Janey! — ^you know you needn’t be either 
drowned or hanged.” 

“Don’t you think so, Joe? Perhaps not! But suppose you hnd 


114 


JOSEPH VANCE 


to decide which? 1 should vote for drowning! I should never | 
vote for being hanged, if they went on till Doomsday/’ And i 
Janey sucked her peppermint drop with her chin between her i 
hands and her elbows on a chair back, and looked very grave about I 
it. 

I shouldn’t vote for either,” said I. 

‘^Perhaps they won’t ask us,” said Janey, and I really felt the i 
matter was geitting serious. Could nothing be done to avert such ; 
a gloomy destiny? But we waived the point, for a knock came, I 
and Janey said, That’s Lossie Thorpe coming. Now mind you 
recollect and call me Janey.” 

How odd the tricks of memory are! I had completely for- 
gotten this conversation of forty-odd years ago until I bought ! 
some peppermint drops for some children this morning, and they 
ordered me to take one myself, and not spit it out. I never re- ; 
membered it even when — ^however, that must stand over! - 

I checked an impulse to run out and meet Miss Lossie, as I had 
repressed a natural greed for peppermint lozenges, from a doubt ' 
whether one could take such a liberty as to walk out of another 
person’s house and come back again, until at any rate one should 
have shaken hands with the whole family. But I hadn’t long to 
wait for Lossie’s ‘^Is Joe Vance' come? Where is he? In the i 
Library?” and Grizzle’s announcement as she opened the door 
of our room, “ I’ve got him in here,” as if I were a specimen. 

“ Where have you got him ? In here ? May we have some of 
him? Why, Joe, you’ve really grown in three months! Is it 
school or what ? Remember I want you always to be a little chap, 
and don’t grow too much — whatever shall I do if Joey begins to 
grow too? However, he can’t do that for another four years at 
least — can you, Joey?” For Joey was still Lossie’s invariable 
asteroid, although he had left his babyhood three years J)ehind. 
But he retained a lisp, and with it, or in spite of it, he now re- 
marked, I want to grow up vethy thoon, and to have a horth.”' 
For Master Joseph whenever he spoke made a requisition. 

Well,” said Lossie, you’ve had a donkey to-day, and that’s 
enough for you! Now, Joe, are you glad or sorry to be back, and 
how’s your Father and Mother? ” She kept my two hands in hers 
until I had replied that I was superlatively glad, with reserves 
about school being perfectly satisfactory to avoid awakening 
suspicion of the contrary, and that Father and Mother were both 
well and desired me to give their best respects. She then took her 
hands back to pull her bonnet off (for in those days girls wore 
bonnets), and gave it to Joey to carry upstairs very carefully and 


JOSEPH VANCE 


115 


not squash it. I think Master Joseph was going to bargain, but 
. his sister said, Cut along, now — you’ve had a donkey ! ” and he 
conceded the point with reluctance. Then Lossie threw herself 
;; into a rocking-chair and took a good look at me. 

I am glad I am not called upon to make oath about some 
recollections of long ago. If I had to swear an affidavit on the 
question of whether, just at the time Lossie came in at the door 
of that most respectable and tranquil Spencer mansion, some one 
did or did not open all the windows, and let the sweet spring air 
into all the closed rooms, and pull up all the half-down blinds 
and let in the sunshine, I shouldn’t be able to make up my mind 
to swearing-point. It may have been so, or it may have been 
' merely Lossie. 

Rather grave you look, at a distance, Joe,” she said. Come 
up near and see then — that’s right, now you’re laughing ! ” 

I was laughing, though indeed I was a little frightened of Miss 
Lossie’s enquiring eyes. I read in them a coming catechism 
about school, with a foreboding that I should not be able to tell 
favourable fibs under their penetrating gaze. I began betraying my 
uneasiness, like a little idiot, by importing foreign matter into 
the conversation. 

‘^I say,” said I, ^^what an awfully long way it is from Wands- 
worth to Charing Cross! And there were such a lot of people in 
the ferry boat it nearly turned over.” 

“Where on earth has the boy been? What ferry-boat, Joe?” 

“ Why, at Chelsea ! Because I got off the road at Battersea, 
and got into the fields, and then got the ferry for a penny below 
Chelsea Church. And then I walked up to Sloane Street, and it 
ha4 got so late I took the ’bus to Charing Cross.” I enlarged a 
I good deal on the dangers and difficulties of Chelsea Perry, but my 
hearer wasn’t deeply interested. Probably she saw my motive. 

“You saw Papa, Joe, yesterday? Did you see Aunt Izzy?” 

“No — she was writing circulars, and thought I was the Baker. 
So I didn’t go in.” Miss Lossie accepted my words as clear, so I 
suppose they were so.' 

“And of course,” said she, “Nolly’s at Claydon Court till 
Saturday. I want to know if Nolly thinks your school like 

Eton ” I got frightened again, but a diversion occurred. Miss 

Serita Spencer came downstairs ready for lunch and said it was 
a quarter past one and lunch was half-past, and how did I do, 
Master Vance? I did very well, thank you. Miss Spencer, and 
might I’ wash my hands. This was negotiated, and while I 
washed my hands almost religiously (in view of the style of the 


116 


JOSEPH VANCE 


house) I reflected on Miss Sarita Spencer, and why it was that I 
thought that if Euclid ever had a daughter she must have been 
rather like Miss Sarry. Perhaps it was chiefly, if not entirely, 
because her elbows appeared actually to be the angles ABC and 
A C B themselves, and because of a certain flavour or aura of 
plane surfaces of which one was conscious during interviews, or 
when following their owner (or subject) up the street. 

I washed my hands so long that I had time also to wonder why 
she and Lossie should at first sight have flown into each other^s 
arms, and down each other’s throats; which was Lossie’s version 
of what took place. But I only wondered because I did not at 
that early age know the law of the attraction of opposites. If 
I had, I should have said to myself, ‘^Why, of course — ^Miss 
Lossie hasn’t got an Angle in her composition, at least not one 
that would stick ini And if Miss Sarry were to try ever so to 
make her hair go in a fluff and get in her eyes, she couldn’t do 
it. And Miss S. is evidently getting ready to be twenty, while 
Lossie hasn’t quite forgotten how to be ten.” — Sarry was a year 
older than Lossie, being at this date seventeen and a half. I have 
since then found out that there are two distinct classes of girls 
and boys — those who in youth are early versions of their maturity^ 
and those who in old age are late editions of their childhood. 
When I last saw Lossie I saw again the Lossie of Poplar Villa. 
When I first saw Sarry Spencer I knew exactly what she would 
be twenty — thirty years later. But had she lived till now no one, 
seeing her for the first time, could ever have guessed what she 
was like as a girl of seventeen. 

A sudden luncheon-bell stopped my reflections and sent me with 
haK-dried hands to be shown to Mr. Spencer by Lossie, as my^ 
young friend Joe Vance who had just come from school at St. 
Withold’s. On which Mr. Spencer succeeded, by saying, “ St, 
Withold’s — ah ha ! ” and then giving a little nod and shutting 
his lips tight, in making me believe he knew all about St. Withold, 
and had only a qualified opinion of the Saint, whereas I really 
believe he knew nothing whatever. This made me uneasy, and I 
was greatly relieved when, on being told that I had come by in- 
vitation to see Hampstead Heath, he repeated in exactly the same 
way, Hampstead Heath — ah ha ! ” as if the motives of such a visit 
were open to suspicion. But Lossie dissipated his legal manner. 

“Why shouldn't Joe Vance come to see Hampstead Heath, I 
should like to know? Come now, Mr. Spencer, don’t be the Lord 
Chancellor, but tell us why — and give me some beef for Joe, 
because he’s ravenous.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


117 


Well, my dear Lucilla,” said Mr. Spencer, very weightily, 
as you press me so for an answer — stop a minute for some more 
gravy — I have no serious objection to making this admission — 
take care you don’t spill it — to making this admission with all 
due reservation — pass me the mustard, my dear — ^with all due 
reservation, that on the whole I see no objection whatever to Joe 
Vance coming to see Hampstead Heath.” 

“ Of course not ! ” cried Lossie. And Sarita and Grizzle 
echoed, Of course not.” Their mother, who was there, but who 
was one of those people who make no impression on others and 
who apparently receive none themselves, seemed to say something. 
She had iron-grey rolls of hair on each side of her forehead, and 
spoke under her breath, and I don’t think I should have known 
she too said “ Of course not ” only that Lossie went on, I’m so 
glad you agree with me, Mrs. Spencer. And we are all going out 
for a walk to show Joe Vance Hampstead Heath if it doesn’t 
rain.” On which Master Joseph, who was on the other side of 
Lossie, struck in, “ I’ve been on the Heath wunth to-day. I want 
to go to the Zoological Gardenth in Eegent’s Park, and see the 
Carnivorous Animals fed at four o’clock precisely.” But this was 
negatived and we got out on the Heath in due course, and 
Lossie and Sarita pointed across the London fog to show me 
where I had come from. The Wen (as Cobbett called it) was 
then a small Wen compared to what it is now. But the heap of 
fog that hid the Surrey Hills was denser for its thickness — for 
when I looked oyer London from the same point one April day 
two years since, I saw the Crystal Palace plain enough. And then 
I thought how Lossie and Miss Spencer and Joey and I stood there 
on that day, and how then there was no Crystal Palace. And 
Penge Park slept unsuspicious and unspoiled. But we wall^ed 
towards the Spaniards without speculating about the growth of 
London. There were so many fields between, and the air was so 
sweet after April showers in the morning, that we didn’t trouble 
our heads about anything. 

At least, not for a moment. For when we had started for the 
Spaniards (after a demand from Joey that we should go to High- 
gate, and his being told that it was on the way there, and ex- 
pressing suspicion of our veracity) trouble came into my head in 
the form of an apprehension that Lossie was going to have it out 
of me about St. Withold. Now apart from my wish to keep my- 
self a sealed book on the subject, I was happy at the pause in the 
process of my conversion to a Gentleman, and was thoroughly en- 
joying the peace and the presence of Lossie. Of course, like th« 


118 


JOSEPH VAiTCE 


Spirit that left the body, and had to return and reanimate it, I was 
luxuriating in my Pleaven, and shutting my eyes to the horror of 
a re-entry into the prison-house. After all, that would be ten days 
hence ! I wasn’t going to fidget about that at least until Saturday. 
Eleven years old does this sort of thing very easily. 

But then I had never had a secret from Lossie. In my three 
years of Penguin’s I had naturally become a sort of tame cati 
at Poplar Villa. Indeed, at some undefined confluence of events. 
Miss Lossie had become Lossie to me; having, I think, for a short 
time stood between inverted commas as a protest against any 
presumption on my part. She used to speak of me as “ t’other lit- 
tle Brother,” and whenever I had anything to tell that was pleasant 
or otherwise, or anything on my conscience, I was sure to take 
Lossie into my confidence first, with of course a reserve in favour 
of my Mother after; the communications to Lossie always being 
made with a subcutaneous sense of what a pleasure it would be to 
tell my Mother what Miss Lossie had said of this or of that. For 
in speaking to my Mother I retained the Miss, not to put her to 
the embarrassment of a doubt whether she was or wasn’t expected 
to change her own form of address. But I had never held my 
tongue about anything to either, and here was I resolute to keep a 
secret if possible from both. It was very unpleasant. 

‘‘ Now, Joe, let them go on in front — and then we can talk. I 
want you to tell me all about St. Withold’s.” 

The Examination had begun, and the answer to the first ques- 
tion was evasive. It was framed on the lines of Baedeker — treat- 
ing of the antiquity of the school, the lateness of its Decorated 
period, and the earliness of its Perpendicular ; of the number of its 
masters, and the profundity of their scholarship; of the smallness 
of Dr. Lasher’s eyes, and the redness of the second Latin Master’s 
nose; and then, becoming feeble and diffuse, drivelled down to 
the tightness of the first Mathematical Master’s trousers. They 
were awfully tight and Purdy secundus reported that he had 
heard them bursting at the seams. 

“Stuff and nonsense, Joe!” exclaimed Lossie, impatiently. 
“ You know very well that Mr. Packer’s trousers are not what I 
want to know about. Bother Mr. Packer’s trousers! — Tell me 
about the classes, about the food, about the matron, about the boys — 
especially the bad boys. Are the boys, the bad ones I mean, as 
much flogged as some people say ? Or is it all exaggeration ? ” 

O that I had only to confess up to my own birchings (for that 
was the rock ahead) to one who would have cheerfully derided 
me and danced with joy over the amount of the infliction ! O that 


JOSEPH VANCE 


110 


Porky Owls had been the Examiner! How I should have re- 
joiced in describing castigation beyond human endurance, cart- 
loads of new birch-rods, and Dr. Lasher fainting with exhaustion 
and brought afresh to the scratch by means of strong stimulants! 
But Porky had (so I heard) entered the Merchant Service, and 
was Heaven knows where ! And it was Lossie, Lossie herself, that 
was waiting for an answer with the thoughtful grey eyes under 
the long eyelashes fixed on me, with somewhat, as I now saw, of 
more serious purpose in her questioning than mere concern in her 
little brother's welfare, however strong that might be. 

“ Come, Joe, don’t sit there with your lips shut, looking like an 
owl! Do thaw a little and tell me things!” 

What about ? ” 

‘‘Joe, little brothers ought not to be little Humbugs! You 
know what about as well as I do. About how much bad boys are 
punished.” 

“ Well ! I suppose it’s like any other School.” 

I was beginning to feel the uselessness of evasion before those 
grey-blue eyes, and indeed I don’t know if I should have managed 
this one, only that when I looked shyly up to see what they were 
doing they were looking towards Harrow. My reprieve was short, 
for the eyes came back from Harrow with startling suddenness — 

“Joe! Tell me the truth ! Have they ever birched 2/ow? '' 

“Of course they have. All the boys get birched — it doesn’t 
matter really whether they are good or bad — it’s part of the disci- 
pline. Dr. Lasher says he was birched when he was young, and 
what would he have been without it?” For this was indeed the 
way in which the Reverend Doctor looked at the question, and im- 
pressed us boys with a sense of his perfections as he stood. For 
we accepted the view that a Head-Master who was satisfied with 
himself must be great indeed. Subsequent reflection has made 
me doubt whether a familiarity with Greek particles and accents 
alone compensates for any and every other defect of character-^ 
and I have since shuddered to think what Dr. Lasher without his 
early discipline would have been, if he was right about the good 
it did him. “ And you know, Lossie,” I went on, “ they say at the 
school that girls and women know nothing about it, and that boys 
have got to be men, and that they mustn’t be allowed to grow up 
Milksops.” 

“ And so on, and so on, and so on, and so on,” said Lossie. “ I 
know all about it, dear Joe! Don’t suppose I don’t. What did 
they birch you for ? ” 

“ Oh, I hadn’t been doing any harm. I was birched for con- 


120 


JOSEPH YANOE 


tradicting the Mathematical Tutor. You know they put me back 
to do Euclid all over again.” 

^ But why did you contradict him ? ” 

^‘Because of the Definition of a Straight Line — a line that lies 
evenly between its extreme points. I asked him what lying evenly 
meant. And he wasnT able to answer, so he said I had contra- 
dicted him. And,” said I, with a glimmer of hope that we might 
wander away from the birch-rod, “it is awful rot, you know — 
you might just as well say that it lay straight between them, or 
that a straight line is a line that is straight ! ” 

But Lossie was not to be taken off the scent by this red herring. 
She insisted on full details, and I went on hoping against hope for 
another. “ Well! Old Lasher didn’t lick into me very much that 
time, to spite Packer, because it was Mathematics, and of course 
Lasher is Classical Languages and Literature and hates Mathe- 
matics. They always say at the School that Packer can never 
get a boy properly flogged. But Lasher laid it well on to a boy in 
his own form, for translating populos people.” 

“ I thought it was people.” 

“ Yes — that’s pop with a short o — this was poapulos with a long 
0. Well! He gave this boy all my share as well as his own. It 
was Spendergrass primus — ^that was his name, you know.” 

“ Yes — and then ? ” 

And then I wanted to say that the incident ended. But I had 
got involved in my own narrative, and the merciless eyes fixed 
me to more, though I had sworn to myself that nothing on earth 
should make me reveal the sequel of this story. 

“ Well — nothing ! Only Spendergrass primus complained.” 

“ Complained of what ? ” 

“ Complained that I had less than he, and it wasn’t fair.” 

“ Who did he complain to — ^to Dr. Lasher ? ” 

“Dr. Lasher? Of course not! He complained to the Head 
Boys on my form.” 

“And what did they say.” 

“Oh, nothing — it doesn’t matter.” 

“Now, no nonsense, Joe! Doesn’t matter — the idea! I mean 
to know all about it, and you may as well tell me.” 

“ Well — they said I must be pickled.” 

“ Good Heavens! What did the horrible little wretches mean? ” 

With a mixed feeling of shame at the transaction, and of pride 
in its existence as a great and immemorial usage of my School, I 
revealed that boys who were considered to have had, from favour- 
itism or otherwise, too lenient a dose of the rod, were subjected to 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


121 


aa irritant of pepper or salt, according to circumstances, in order 
to equalize the justice or injustice of the relative cases. Probably 
it was something of this sort that led to the turpentine incident I 
have already referred to. 

^^And, oh! Joe — dear Joe — were you pickled?” 

I had got the ugly part of my story told to my thinking — and 
I was boy enough to enjoy telling the remainder. 

Oh no ! I wasn^t pickled. I got off by fighting ” 

“ What — fighting the whole lot ? ” 

* No — iPs like this — you can be pickled, or you can fight another 
boy bigger than yourseK. I chose Spendergrass primus, to pay 
him out for complaining. And as soon as he had time to get all 
right after old Lasher, we fought behind the Cloister — thaPs where 
they fight — and I had a black eye, and he had two teeth loosened. 
But the dentist said they would tighten in again, and it didn^t 
matter. Oh, Lossie, don’t cry 1 ” 

For Lossie was crying, though she said she wasn’t. ^‘It’s only 
the dazzle of the sun,” she said. There must be a rainbow 
somewhere behind us — look at the drops on the grass, how they 
sparkle like diamonds!” But it hadn’t been a rain-drop that I 
saw fall on the hair bracelet. However, Lossie cleared up like the 
April shower, and the sun shone again. 

Boys are all alike,” said she. You were just like Nolly 
when he went to Eton, before you went away in January. And 
now you’re just like him at the end of his first term. You know, 
Joe, you wouldn’t have told me all these horrors if I hadn’t 
pumped you so. But I won’t blow you up, dear, so you needn’t be 
frightened. Let’s follow them on to the Spaniards.” 

For we had stopped during this conversation at the Scotch 
Firs at the edge of the Heath. Lossie had sat down on a wooden 
seat while we talked, and I had been making little heaps of sand 
and fir-cones at the knotty exposed root of a fir-tree close by. I 
never see a fir-cone now without thinking of that afternoon at 
Hampstead. 

don’t think Eton can be half as bad as this horrible place 
where you are, Joe,” said Lossie, as we started again. Nolly 
never told me anything like what you have to-day — I should like 
to murder that abominable old whaPs-his-name ? ” 

‘‘ What, old Lasher ! ” said I. Why, old Lasher ! He’s really 
not half bad, when you come to know him.” 

^‘Well, then— that Mr. Packer that got you flogged by telling 
a lie about you. I certainly should like to murder him. Come 
now, Joe, say you hate him!” 


122 


JOSEPH VANCE 


‘‘Hate old Packer?” said 1. ‘Taney any one hating old 
Packer! But of course his trousers are too tight, and he^s rather 
an Ass ” 

Lossie had a laugh for this, and I felt we were getting to rights 
again. “ Bother old Packer’s tight trousers,” said she. “ Didn’t 
I say so before, and you make me say it again ? But now — ^how ' ■ 
about the other boy? Don’t you hate himV* 

“ What, Spendergrass ? ” cried I, and my surprise was real, find- 
ing vent in a quite extravagant amount of accent on his first 
syllable. “ Why, Spendergrass is going to ask his Governor to ask ! 
me down to Princes Kisborough in June — ^Larkshall’s his Gov- | 
ernor’s country house. We had no end of a spree, him and me, | 

etc., etc.” And I was glad to get on to a narrative of this spree, j 

and thus to avoid further revelations of school-discipline. But i 
Loseie was very absent, and didn’t seem to profit by it. She in- 
terrupted me suddenly at a most critical and interesting crisis in 
the spree — 

“ But, Joe dear, I do want to know — are they going on like 
this with you always? Never mind about how you blacked their 
noses with cork now — you can tell me that after. Suppose 
you’re at school there three or four years, won’t it get any 
better ? ” 

“Oh, it’s all right ! Besides, any pupil they think they can run 
for the Thurtell Scholarship they let off easily — ^because they don’t 
want to upset him and spoil his chances.” 

Lossie stopped and looked round at me with an expression of 
bewilderment. 

“Do you mean to say, Joe, that when a boy isn*t trying for any 
Scholarship, or what would bring credit to the school — ^because 
that’s the idea, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes — that’s the idea. The Thurtell sends a boy to Oxford, 
and if he distinguishes himself of course that brings more pupils 
to St. Withold’s.” 

“ Well, then — that then, they do want to upset him and spoil his 
chances ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! At least, that’s not the way to put it. It’s the 
system ! ” 

“ What’s the system ? ” 

“ Well ! The system Dr. Lasher was brought up in.” 

“And I don’t think,” said Lossie, “that Dr. Lasher would do 
any credit to Pandemonium, which is the same system, I should 
say.” 

“ But please, Lossie, you won’t tell the Doctor all this ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 123 

There they are on in front stopping for ns ! Come along, 
Joe!” 

Whether the Doctor was told, I never knew, but of one effect 
which this conversation would have (and did have) I felt as cer- 
tain at the time as if Lossie had put her intentions into words — 
namely, that Joey Thorpe would never go to a public school. For 
the Doctor would never run counter to any wish of Dossiers. And 
I am sure that she for her part believed that what was true of St. 
Withold was very nearly true, if not quite, of all public schools. 
This was encouraged by Nolly’s obvious reticence about Eton, 
which was in truth nothing but the natural attitude of a boy to- 
wards his sister. Had Lossie been my own sister I doubt if I 
should have told her all I did. It turns on a very singular nuance 
of a boy’s character — ^the one which decides what he will or will 
not consider to be sneaking. Perhaps as long as he realizes there 
are such things as meanness and the reverse, it does not so much 
matter how much his germ of a brain muddles the details. But 
that this particular confusion exists, that it is unmanly to reveal 
school secrets to sisters, I am convinced. Obviously it would have 
been easier for me to confess (to Spendergrass, for instance) that 
I had told all that story to Miss Lucilla Thorpe, than for him to 
tell me he had told it to his sister. 

Anyhow, Los*sie evidently got the idea that she had seen through 
me into the secrets of school-life, and that Nolly could have told 
similar tales had he chosen. And from this it came about that 
Master Joey passed through a curriculum of day-schools and 
private tutors instead of having his character formed on orthodox 
lines. 

We got back just in time to avoid a shower, and then it became 
clear that what it is nowadays right to call the trend of events 
was in the direction of my stopping the night at The Limes. 

there is a class specially favoured of Heaven, a sort of Chosen 
People, who always catch ’buses before you do; who get in at the 
Pit and Galleries of Theatres before the doors are opened; who 
monopolize standing-room, and remain inert and immovable in 
sitting-room; who succeed in seeing Kaces while you have to be 
satisfied with coat-tails and bustles. This class is of no age, no 
sex, no profession; in fa^ has no qualities whatever, except that 
of being Somebody Else/ It is suspected of chuckling inwardly 
over your discomfiture, but otherwise is without passions. It was 
agreed at The Limes that this class would be sure to have taken 
all the places in the ’bus long before I got there, and that this 
was equally true of all dates of arrival. So it was determined that 


124 


JOSEPH VANCE 


I should stay the night, and I did. Surmises whether my Father 
would be anxious struck me as an odd attribute of high respecta- 
bility when I thought to myself how different things were in our 
old days before the Building Trade was dreamed of! Hy Father 
was often away all night without notice given, and my Mother 
postponed belief in disaster quite contentedly. 

Some young friends from close by were elicited by a three- 
cornered note from Sarita, and we spent a pleasant evening play- 
ing Pope Joan. It is a good game, and the board can be spun 
round and round rapidly, which seems to me to give it an advan- 
tage over other card-games with no boards. Incidentally, I may 
note that I very early deserted cards for chess, and never went 
back. 

The Spencer family was a very late family in the morning 
apparently, for Lossie and I got the best part of an hour before 
any of them were visible. I really thought all the water in the 
urn on the sideboard would evaporate before an authentic tea- 
maker appeared, so impatient did it become. In fact, it once 
suddenly became quite snappish, owing to strained relations with 
its naphtha-lamp, and had to be soothed. This done, our conversa- 
tion went on at the point of interruption: — 

“I^m sure your Mother won^t mind it, Joe, when once she gets 
a little into the way. And you know, after all, she won’t have to 
work so hard as she has done.” 

“ Oh, I suppose it ’ll be all right.” For of course at that early 
date everything was always going to be all right. ‘‘ My Father 
says if the cook or the housemaid are bounceable, he’ll square them 
up sharp, and send them packing in double-quick time.” 

My dear boy, that’s not the difficulty. Anybody can get rid 
of servants. They are not limpets or leeches. The trouble is to 
find the new ones. And your Mother will have to do that.” 

I felt I was in the presence of superior knowledge of the subject, 
so when I repeated again that Father thought it would be all right, 
I avoided details for fear of another destructive criticism. 

“My upstairs Joey,” said Lossie, inventing an expression to 
cover existing facts, “ was snoring when I went in to see — at least 
he would have been snoring, if he’d been Aunty. I wasn’t going 
to wake him, breakfast or no, and I shall hear him move, down 
here. We’re just underneath.” 

“You didn’t tell me what the Doctor said,” said I, referring 
back to a prse-kettle-boiling stage of the conversation. 

“ Said you would be sure to choose for yourself when you were 
old enough — that you could go into your Father’s business just 


JOSEPH VAITCE 


125 


the same for the next three or four years. And you had better 
have the full advantage of your schooling. You may get the 

Thurtell Scholarship, you know 

“ And what did Father say ? ” 

“ Said the berth would always be wacant for the Nipper, and 
you certainly did seem to have an aptitood for the Clarsicks.” 
From which it must not be inferred that any disrespect was meant 
to my Father; as the fact is Lossie and I were so confidential 
that we made no bones of comparing notes about our seniors’ 
individualities. But lines were drawn. Lossie would never have 
mimicked my Mother’s pronunciation any more than I should the 
Doctor’s. I was very free in the matter of Aunt Izzy. 

‘‘ I say, Lossie,” said I. 

What, Joe? ” 

Which do you think your Governor would really like best ? ” 

‘‘ Well, dear, you know what Papa is ! Of course as he happened 
to be able to give you his Nomination, or whatever they call it, 
at this horrible genteel Wackford Squeerses, why, he would like 
you to have the full benefit of it, and perhaps go up to the Uni- 
versity. But I’m sure if he knew how Dr. Lasher went on ” 

I stopped Lossie with a voluble disclaimer. Dr. Lasher was the 
most awfully ;iolly old boy, and the System was the most awfully 
jolly old System, and St. Withold was the most awfully jolly of 
old Saints. Heaven forbid that Lossie should draw any opposite 
conclusions from what I told her yesterday. I ascribed a great 
liberality to St. Withold on the ground that I had not hesitated to 
tell so much about him, suggesting that Nolly could tell a lot 
worse things about Eton if he chose. It was just the same in all 
other schools, only heaps worse, and the boys wouldn’t tell. In 
fact, I did all I could to erase the impression I had given, seeing 
the matter now in its relation to a possible disappointment for Dr. 
Thorpe. I sternly resolved in my ovrn mind that, whatever night- 
mare of the Saint’s fiancee’s nine-fold brood should dominate my 
school-dream, nothing on earth should wring a complaint from 
me about it. For the future all should be silence. 

I also perceived that Lossie would be more likely to tell her 
Governor nothing about what I had revealed if I laid stress on the 
Oxford possibility. I was able in this connection to produce 
evidence of favourable predictions about myself in the school 
though it was only my first term. Capp tertius had overheard a 
conversation about me, and a wager laid by no less a person than 
Mr. Packer of the tight trousers; — that if I stopped on long enough' 
I should get the Thurtell, and end with a double-first at Oxford. 


126 JOSEPH VAHCE 

I told this to Lossie, and Mr. Packer seemed to. go up in her good 
opinion. 

‘^Well then, Joe/^ said she. That’s how it’s to be! I shan’t 
tell Papa about the School, and I hope you’ll be let off easy next 
term. And you’ll be a double-first, won’t you ? ” 

How very curious some common figures of speech are, if you 
thinlv of them seriously! Why on earth should I have asked 
Lossie in reply if that wouldn’t be a lark? That was my com- 
ment, but I got no answer. For Sarita Spencer came downstairs 
in a hurry, pretending she had never been behind time on any 
previous occasion. I wasn’t able to tell myself exactly why I 
wondered that Miss Sarry should be so well kissed on both sides 
by Lossie when she entered ther^oom in the hurry aforesaid, but 
I perceived a fitness in the equilibrium, owing to her resemblance 
to the isosceles triangle. Had Lossie kissed one side only, I 
should have felt that she had got slightly scalene. For every- 
thing Lossie did left an effect behind it, for me! This may seem 
nonsense, but it is to my mind true, and I am not writing this 
for the general public. 

^‘Good-morning, Master Vance,” said Sarry, and proceeded to 
make the tea, to the great gratification and relief of the kettle, 
the extinction of whose lamp was like a Proclamation of Peace. 
“Five because Mamma never takes tea, and one for the Pot, six. 
How I can see about your omnibus. What’s the clock in the 
passage? Twenty minutes to nine — it must be fast! Bakewell! 
Bakewell ! What’s the time by the kitchen clock ? ” A reply from 
the bowels of the earth answered this enquiry over the stair-rail 
outside. “ I thought it was fast — ^twenty-five minutes ! Papa 
must put it back next time Mamma goes out, because he won’t 
push the minute-hand back, and it goes round and round and 
strikes every time and gets on Mamma’s nerves. Let’s see! Stop 
a minute! You can’t catch the half -past nine ’bus now. You 
might get the ten-o’clock one — ^would that do?” 

“He can catch any ’bus,” said Lossie, “if they go every half- 
hour — can’t you, Joe?” 

“How, isn’t that just like Lossie?” said Sarita. 

“ What’s like Lossie ? ” said Mr. Spencer, appearing. “ Good- 
morning, Lossie ! What is it that is like Miss Lucilla Thorpe ? ” 

“ Saying boys can catch any omnibus because they go every 
talf-hour,” said Sarry, rather cutting her father off short. Mr. 
Spencer’s method of receiving this was legal and irritating. 

“ My young friend here,” said he, “ appears to me to be only one 
boy. Am I to understand that all boys go every half-hour ? ” 


JOSEPH YJlNCIE, 


127 


‘^Nonsense, Papa, you know what I mean quite well! Grizzle 
dear (for Grizzle was appearing), ask over the stairs if these are 
our eggs.” 

If you and Grizzle don^t know, how can you expect the cook to 
know ? ” said Mr. Spencer. And Sarry said, “ Well, for the life of 
me I can’t tell what you’re all laughing at.” Because we were 
laughing. And we didn’t laugh less when Grizzle came in, saying, 
‘‘ Bakewell says they are our eggs.” But Sarry didn’t seem any 
the wiser, and reverted to the omnibus. I checkmated this 
vehicle by a remark I had been waiting to make, to the effect that 
I intended to walk all the way. Clearly then there was nothing to 
arrange, and Lossie said, You silly boy, you might just as well 
have said so at once!” 

It was some time after this when I was just going to say good- 
bye and start, that Sarry was taken with a fit of laughter that 
threatened serious consequences. “ Oh, Lossie dear,” she said, 
after recovering respiration, ‘‘it was because I saw what Papa 
meant all of a sudden! Just as if Grizzle and I were hens! ” 

Lossie started with me to show me the shortest way. We talked 
about Sarita. I was emphatic in my approbation, and couldn’t 
repeat too often that the young lady was awfully jolly. But in 
spite of this I 'remember then wondering at Lossie’s adoration of 
her. And as she scarcely comes into this narrative except as a 
recipient of a number of letters which afterwards passed into my 
possession, and which I now have here, it is only this inability to 
account for Lossie that has made me piece together my scraps of 
recollection of Sarry, so as to obtain if possible some light on the 
problem of her fascination. For myself, I never could understand 
it; hut probably every one else was right and I was wrong. 

I said good-bye to Lossie, and started for home; very glad to 
have avoided any more about St. Withold’s. 


CHAPTER XVI 


yoE^s father’s hat again, and how his mother died, a letter 
OP lossie written a year after, of his father's grief and 

HIS OWN — THE STORY OF HIS FATHER’S COURTSHIP TOLD TO JOE 

OF THE PURE CAIRN MAGORRACHAN MOUNTAIN DEW, AND HOW JOE 
LAY AWAKE BECAUSE OF THE SAME. 

On re-reading a passage of this MS. I perceived that I had 
after all, in the face of my own protest, dismissed my Father’s 
Hat with too short and disrespectful a notice. I am, you see, an 
old stager, and to me the whole of the Past presents itself as one 
huge shiny stovepipe Hat, with Proletarians and Roturiers crawl- 
ing round it on their stomachs in abject abasement. I am told 
that new readings of the Book of Life have been sanctioned by 
the Authorities, whoever they are, and that a Bank Director has 
been seen in a billycock ! But I cannot nerve myself to accepting 
such a state of things on hearsay, and must stick to the memories 
of boyhood. 

I refer again to this Hat (observe that I always give it a 
capital), not with any hope of doing it justice, but because it was 
an outward and visible sign of a changed order of things. Dur- 
ing the whole of the period between my first experience of Lossie, 
and her letter (which I am coming to), my Father was what is 
described in English, and in English only, as sober. In other 
countries people are normal, or drunk. In England an abnormal 
condition demands the adjective sober, and occasionally gets it. 
The change, which had been procured by the simple incident of 
two months’ enforced abstention, was little less than promotion to 
Paradise for my Mother. I myself felt it more through my rela- 
tion with her than in any other way. For to me whatever my 
Father did was right. Had his drunkenness led to brutality to 

my Mother, or myself, it might have been otherwise. But it 

showed itself almost entirely in Bacchanalianism proper, and 
fights with equivalent males of his own species. 

I cannot quite bring myself to write that in the Hat period my 
Mother became kinder to me. It would imply a previous un- 

kinJness. That would be false. But there was a sort of dif-^ 

128 


JOSEPH YAHCE 


129 


ference between her two forms of kindness. I suppose the with- 
drawal of a cause of anxiety gave her more license to spoil me* 
Or was it my new position? I don’t think it was. I think it was 
that the happier she was, the more motherly she could be. Have 
you never seen women of her surroundings, whose brutal males 
and sordid lives have made them cruel to their children ? If there 
was any trace of this in my Mother, it disappeared at the Hat 
transition, and left her what I remember her when I started to 
go back to school at the end of that happiest of fortnights at 
home. 

‘^Good-bye, my precious darling boy, good-bye!” said she. And 
I said my say of farewells, and ended with “ Now cut away in- 
doors, or you’ll get your cough worse.” For she was coughing a 
good deal. And then my Father said, Cough ’ll be all right, if 
the dam doctor will go and ’ang himself. There’s nothing amiss 
with the cough.” 

Here is the letter of Lossie, written more than two years later. 

‘^Poplar Villa, Sept, 1854. 

I wonder why it is, dear, that I always deluge you with letters 
in September. No, I don’t — I mean I don’t wonder. Because 
September in London is such a nice peace and quiet time. The 
leaves blow about and Violet goes to stay with friends in the coun- 
try, and if we’re in London at all I’m left alone with Papa and 
Joey, and look after the housekeeping myself instead of Aunty. 

One does feel so brutal when one finds it such a relief to get 
rid of one’s family. One is really very fond of them, but say what 
one will it is like a breath of fresh air to get what poor Joe Vance’s 
father calls ‘ shet o’ the whole bilin’.’ The only section, or segment 
or drop (I don’t know how a bilin’ is divided) that I have any 
cause to find fault with is poor dear Aunty. She’s gone to a 
Congress of an Association for the Promotion or Suppression of 
some Virtue or Vice, I’m not sure which! She’s an Honorary 
Secretary, and some big bundles have come from the printer — 
but they must be forwarded at once or I would open one and get 
out a Prospectus to send you. How ever the Society can get along 
with an Honorary Secretary who has an ear-trumpet I don’t know ! 
However, Papa says he knows of an acting Secretary of a leading 
Institute in London who is stone deaf but in receipt of £600 a 
year ! But then he reads the Times all day long and never inter- 
feres in the business of the office, and I am sure Aunty never 
didn’t interfere with anything. However, I really ought to be 


130 


JOSEPH VANCE 


deeply thankful now she’s taken up Homoeopathy. Papa says 
Homoeopathy is ^ an Allotropic form of letting other people’s in- 
sides alone,’ and really before it turned up she was trying. Be- 
cause there was no way of heading her off, or escaping diagnosis at 
tlie hands of Dr. Hillyer except taking an eighth part of any bottle 
that hadn’t been emptied, no matter what, as a compromise. She 
always smelt it and confirmed its efficacy from recollection, also 
remembering the principal ingredients, ^ It’s that nice prescription 
of Dr. Hillyer’s. It’s only a little Ammonia and Chlorodyne and 
Gentian and Bark, and nothing that can possibly hurt. And of 
course you won’t mind me, dear, no one does! But I’m sure you 
ought either to take something or let Dr. Hillyer see you.’ It 
really was just like that, and now it is better a deal — that is to say, 
one escapes being poisoned, but the embarrassment of having to 
shout one’s symptoms on the stairs or other public places is rather 
increased than otherwise. Because she has got a precious and 
infallible work called ‘Jahr’s Plandbuch,’ which Papa calls the 
Valetudinarian’s Delight, and which bristles with symptoms which 
would make one envious of leprosy if one had them. She stopped 
me a little while ago just as I was going into the street, with Jahr 
in her hand, to enquire whether the following described my case — 
^ Itching in the nostrils. Titillation in the membranes of the 
nasal canal. Sensation as of centipedes on the occiput, or of a large 
heavy object in the glottis, accompanied with wheezing, snoring, or 
choking. Incessant sneezing. Metempsychosis and Asphyxia. 
Tendency to jump, start and use bad language. Sensation of a 
swarm of bees in the larynx. Caryatids.’ That’s just exactly what 
she read very loud to me and a policeman’s back, standing at our 
gate — all except the medical terms, some of which I have forgotten. 
Don’t you think my substitutes elegant? You may fancy what 
this work reads like when it is necessary to choose between Silicea 
and Carbo Vegetabilis for my greedy little brother, when he has in- 
dulged too freely in the pleasures of the table. Of course I always 
say the symptoms are exactly right, and in the above case laid 
special claim to the sensation of a swarm of bees, and when I came 
back from posting my letter found two tumblers of the weakest 
possible grog with paper over them — one teaspoonful every four 
hours of each, alternately. She makes some concession to my 
feelings on the subject of High Dilutions, and (at great risk to 
myself, she says) allows me to have Mother-Tinctures. Hence the 
Alccffiol, which has the same relation to real Grog that a glass of 
water too often has to bea:, owing to previous associations isnd 
ineffectual dry rubs. 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


131 


I wouldn’t nag on this way at poor Aunty, only she really did 
aggravate Papa and me so when poor Mrs. Vance was dying. 
You must have seen her here — indeed, I am sure you did, a twelve- 
month since — and she said that as soon as ever easy circumstances 
permitted she should go and have a breath of sea-air. And you 
fancied she meant that funds were low, and I knew better and ex- 
plained. She was a dear good woman, and we never could get 
her to give up calling me Miss Lucilla and Aunty Ma’am, and in- 
sisting on standing up till she was actually pushed into a chair. 
She was Joe Vance’s mother, you know, and we were all grieved to 
lose her. And I daresay Aunty meant well — indeed, I’m sure 
she did — ^but really to expect her to see a Homceopathic Physician 
secretly and take clandestine globules was too much! And then 
to go and tell Papa that Mrs. Vance was really yearning for the 
globules and said that they were the only things that did any good, 
and that it was all the hard incredulity of that Sadducee of a hus- 
band of hers that prevented it! Papa actually spoke to Joe’s 
father about it, but it wasn’t any use, because Mr. Vance couldn’t 
be got to look at the matter from any point of view except its rela- 
tion to a possible turn-up, or set-to between Dr. Hillyer and Mr. 
Knowles, Aunty’s Homoeopath, in his back-garden. He seems to 
have caught at' this idea, and cherished it, for happening to meet 
Mr. Knowles at our house he (having just heard his name) addressed 
him thus : ^ ’Appy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Price. When 
are you going to have it out with my medical attendant? You’re 
both on you light weights, and nothing could be fairer! Say the 
word and I’ll make the ap’intment.’ Then as Aunty would not let 
Papa alone about it, he tried speaking to Dr. Hillyer in confidence, 
to persuade him to wink at some sort of arrangement. ‘ But,’ said 
Papa to me after, ^Dr. Hillyer turned purple and couldn’t articu- 
late, and I was obliged to apologize for mentioning it and gave it 
up.’ Poor Mr. Vance — ^you know although he’s so prosperous now, 
he’s entirely ignorant and uneducated — he hates all ‘ ’oarspital 
carackters,’ as he calls them, and says the minute you let them 
feel your pulse, orf you go with your symptoms and then you may 
just as well order your coffin and chuck it! 

I began writing this letter meaning to tell you about Vi and 
her young German — I really do think it’s going to come to some- 
thing this time (here follows an account of the gentleman to whom 

Violet was engaged at this date) 

^‘Vi is very severe with me for never being engaged at all. I 
have explained to her that I take after our grandmothers, who had 
Admirers, for several of whom they had a True R^rd, and one of 


132 


JOSEPH VANCE 


whom after severe probation became the Man of their Choice, and 
if all went well, ultimately became our Grandpapa. She says it 
really cannot matter now what girls did who had their waists under 
their chins and no crinoline, and ringlets, nor men whose trousers 
were as tight as stockings and who had little tail-coats and frills 
to their shirts, and shaved close every morning. You should see 
her crinolines — every new one larger than the last I .... I 
must say I should not like to be engaged if the man was an idiot, 
or became one, and I felt it was my fault. If ever I am I mean to 
keep my promise and tell you exactly what he says when he pro- 
poses, because I shall refuse him civilly if he says anything too 
silly for me to report. What an interminable long letter this is 
getting ! 

‘‘Poor darling little Joe Vance! It was just heartbreal^ing to 
see him when his mother died. But I did all I could to console 
the boy. It was too bad of that horrible old fool Capstick to try 
to make him more miserable than he need have been. I wish Joe^a 
father had really done what he threatened — though I can’t quite 
make out what it was, as J oe declines to repeat his Dad’s language I 
I am not surprised. But I gather that Capstick (who is an ad- 
vanced disciple of the Belief-at-Choice School) had certainly said 
to Mr. Vance, ‘ When you get to Hell, dear Sir, you’ll find out you 
could have believed if you had chosen.’ Fancy his talking that 
way, and in the presence of the boy, too! Such a nice lad he’s 
growing to be, and simply getting on like wild-fire with his studies. 
He is developing a strong taste for mechanics, and threatens to 
forget all his classics as soon as he’s done with them. . . . 

“Your ever affectionate 

“Lossie Thorpe.” 

I had read through many letters of Lossie’s written during my 
early schooldays, among the contents of the bundle in my posses- 
sion, before I came to the foregoing — ^but none containing any- 
thing that called for record about myself. Briefly, I may note 
that in these letters stories about my namesake Joey become 
scarcer and almost vanish — in which one may distinguish that his 
amusing babyhood is giving place to a rather wilful and selfish 
boyhood; that Vi was never very long without a love-affair on, 
but that they never took substantial form and purpose until the 
appearance of the young German; that Aunt Izzy’s benevolent 
efforts for her fellow-creatures continued without the slightest 
consideration for the comfort of her victims, and that Lossie her- 
self is distinctly growing up from fifteen to nineteen. But there 


133 


JOSEPH VANCi; 

chances to be very little allusion to me or mine ; and this is 
made reasonable to me by my want of recollection of ' Sarita 
Spencer during this particular period. She could only have had 
a corresponding impression of me, so it was natural I shbuld not 
occur in Lossless correspondence with her until some new chord 
was sounded in what a striking writer (whose name I have for- 
gotten) calls “ the orchestration of our joint lives.” A sad 
modulation, into a minor key, was pending in those of myself and 
my Father. 

For before two years were completed of the seven, fourteen, or 
twenty-one years’ lease of his new house, he was a widower. My 
Mothers cough, that was the last sound I heard when I returned 
to School after my first Easter Holidays, had gone on for more 
than a twelvemonth on a tenancy at will — its will! — ^promising 
each week to go next week; each week declaring in the face of 
evidence that it was a little better; and each month being obliged 
to admit that it was a great deal worse. When I returned to 
School for the second Christmas term I wore a new suit of mourn- 
ing and the black gloves the Undertaker had vouchsafed to me at 
my Mother’s funeral. 

How well I remember going back with my Father to his lonely 
house; and as soon as we had shaken ourselves free of the mourn- 
ing coach and its beery satellites, going instinctively to the little 
smoking snuggery at the end of the passage, to avoid the sight of 
all the expensive furniture which he had purchased more and 
more as my Mother’s illness had increased. It was all o’ no use, 
Nipper dear!” said he to me as he closed the dining-room door in 
passing. I really believe he thought that settees covered with 
Utrecht velvet, walnut chiffoniers with curvilinear marble tops, 
buhl, marqueterie, ormolu, and so forth had in them the properties 
of antidotes to pulmonary disease. He had looked upon himself 
and the Doctor as working to opposite ends; the Doctor to com- 
passing my Mother’s death by means of illegible prescriptions, and 
himself to counteracting them by expensive upholstery from 
Tottenham Court Koad. The Apothecary he regarded as an 
originally sinless tradesman with a very red lamp, misled by the 
said prescriptions into conspiracies against health and life. He 
certainly ascribed Death to doctors and nurses, except in cases of 
extreme old age. Even when he imputed to patients that their 
own carelessness, obstinacy, and neglect of his advice was a con- 
tributary cause, he always made the Nurse and Doctor primarily 
responsible. “If,” said he, reproachfully, “they’d only have let 
her enjy herself and get out and amongst ’em and have a hearty 


134 


JOSEPH VANCE 


laugh, fes the say in’ is, instead of their stinkin’ prescriptions — 
she*d bave done well enough! As if I didn’t know your Mother 
after all^hese years ! ” 

He declined the too-late-for-lunch meal that awaited us in the 
dining-room, saying that I should have to go and eat something 
or-^and stopped short of adding that my Mother would be dis- 
pleased. 

Never mind, Nipper,” said he, “we shall get it all square in 
time,” meaning that he would get to realize the new state of 
things. “ Help me off with this here coat, and ketch hold on the 
hat, and we’ll have a peck in here, and a pipe — at least, I will. 
Young shavers like you don’t have pipes.” He subsided into the 
extensive leather armchair with brass studs which was his special 
property; and leaving me to justify the chops which the slavey 
(as he called her) had deflected from their first destination, lit 
his pipe and went on with his reflections. 

“All, as I say, o’ no use, Nipper! Two picters — engravings, 
I should say — after Landseer — both the same subject. Proof be- 
fore Letters was the name he said, though I can’t see any Letters 
in the picters myself. And not so much as hung in their places 
yet! There’s the picter-cord waiting all ready, ever since that 
day I told you when she let the slavey bring up her breakfast to 
her in bed — that was the day after I carried her upstairs. And 
I didn’t have ’em put up not till I should know she was sure to 
come down the same day, or they’d have told her and she’d have 
fretted to come down and see ’em. Very fond of stags she was, 
and saw ’em in Eichmond Park; and that was why I bought this 
picture of Proof before Letters. It’s a stag in the water — 
you saw it? Just before you went back after the summer holi- 
days.” 

I had seen it, but only by tilting it forward and looking down 
at it — not the best way of seeing pictures. I did not know at that 
time what a proof before letters was, but I fancied there might 
have been some mistake in taking this for the title. It didn’t 
matter then — nothing mattered! My Father continued: 

“Why, I met her in Eichmond Park, the very first time ever 
I saw her. I was along of a young gal I was walking out with 
at that time, by name Maria Stevens. I believe she had an 
operation for her eyes after and they came straight— squinted then 
she did, at the time I’m a-thinkin’ of. And says she, ‘ There’s 
young Cripps and his young woman— here close to us,’ says she, 
‘ what are you a-staring at Wimbledon Common for ? ’ And says 
I, ^She’s a handsome young wench, anyhow !’ — For I tell you, Joe, 


JOSEPH VANCE 135 

your Mother was the prettiest girl at eighteen I ever see, before 
or since.” 

He had talked himself into the past, and remained silent, puff- 
ing at his pipe, till I said, “ Yes, Daddy, and then ? ” 

‘‘Oh — ah — ^yes, it’s the Nipper! Where was I a-telling? To be 
sure — ‘ She’s a handsome young wench,’ says I, ‘ anyhow ! ’ And 
Maria Stevens she tossed her head, being, as you might say, 
miffed, and ‘ P’r’aps,’ says she, ‘ you’d like her better than me ? ’ 
‘ No, Maria,’ says I, ‘ the likes of her is not for the likes of me.’ 
‘Ho, that’s the view you take,’ says Maria, and just flings off and 
leaves me, and off she goes to your mother and young Cripps. 
We was all young together, Joe, you know,” said my Father, 
apologetically. 

“But what happened. Daddy dear?” said I. “Did Maria 
Stevens come back ? ” 

“ They all came across together, and yoimg Cripps he says to 
me, civil-like, that he’d seen me at the private bar at the Goat and 
Compasses. And whether he had I did not know — neither do I 
to this moment. Maybe he had, maybe otherwise! I said o’ coorse 
he had. Then your Mother and me we dropped back, for the 
purpose like on her part, but I was a little afraid of her at first 
go-off. ‘Sorry 'to hear you’ve had words, Mr. Vance,’ says she. 
‘ Why, you see,’ says I, ‘ she took me up so short. Miss Stevens 
did.’ And I told her all about it. And then your Mother says: 
‘Well, now — ^^fr. Vance, did you ever? Only to think what 
strange coincidences do occur when not looked after’ — (I remember 
her very words). ‘I truly assure you without exaggeration that 
that very expression and no other is the very one Reuben Cripps 
made use of relatin’ to Miss Stevens the minute I asked him if 
perhaps he wouldn’t prefer her, squint and all? “The likes of 
her isn’t for the likes of me ” — only fancy ! ’ And she was a-call- 
ing out to them all about it, but they’d got out o’ hearing. And I 
never see either of ’em again from that day forward.” 

According to my belief, youth is unsympathetic in all matters, 
but especially in its feelings towards its predecessors’ youth. It 
looks on it as not having been quite the genuine article, although 
it may have seemed so at the time to previous persons, betrayed 
into misapprehension by surrounding circumstances. I cannot 
disguise it from myself now that, horribly egotistical as it seems, 
I felt only a qualified interest in my Father’s recollections. Of 
course I affected a strong one, so far as my grief left life in me 
to profess anything; but I would quite as soon have indulged it 
in silence. Yet I must have listened, or I should scarcely recol- 


136 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Icct it all so well. It is odd, but for all the many years that I am 
now older than my Father was then, I still regard him as a genuine 
example of a grown-up person, and my present self as rather an 
impostor in that respect. — I wonder if any one who reads this will 
recognize the feeling? 

' My Father smoked on, looking at the fire, when he finished 
speaking, until I tried to say something, more because I thought 
he might wish to go on talking than because I thought I should 
really listen. 

" Poor little beggar,” said he. “ A little chap mustn^t cry his 
heart out — come here, old man ! Come and sit on this here knee — 
not too old for that yet — ^hay, boy? But don’t cry like that! 

Mother wouldn’t like it ” For indeed I had rather broken 

down. But I pulled myself together, and asked where he and 
Mother went then. It seemed as good a thing to say as anything 
else. 

“ Well, my dear, your Mother and I we walked about the Park 
looking for young Cripps and Maria Stevens, or pretended to it. 
And I’ll be bail they walked about and made believe to look for 
we! But they never found us, nor yet we them — and I warn’t 
sorry. And she warn’t sorry. But she kep’ on a-sayin’ : ‘ Dear 
me, wherever now can Reuben Cripps have gone? And Miss 
Maria Stevens?’ — ‘Mr. Cripps is ’artily welcome to my share of 
M’riar,’ says I, ‘ as long as he don’t come interrupting other 
people.’ — ‘ Then you mustn’t run away and leave me alone, Mr. 
Vance,’ says your Mother. Nor yet I didn’t, dear Nipper. I saw 
her home safe to her place — a house Bayswater way, where she 
was in the Nursery, two Nurses being kept. But I didn’t go right 
to the door for fear the upper housemaid, who knew Cripps, should 
distinguish me out from him. 

“I was then in the market-gardening out Chiswick way, and 
very nearly lost my place I did that time, owing to seeing your 
Mother home — and having to walk back made me oversleep, beside 
lyin’ awake as I remember. And loadin’ up for Covent Garden 
towards Midsummer is early work. The old Governor was in & 
tidy rage! 

“ We didn’t make no appointment for her next Sunday out, but 
she mentioned which it would be, and that any one who came 
for her was to please ask for Jane, though her name was Ellen; she 
being called Jane owing to two Ellens in the house already inside 
the family. I didn’t ask, but she saw me across the way. And 
when we came back from Greenwich Park that afternoon, she 
took me to her aunt’s to make me reg’lar. And her aunt she 


JOSEPH VANCE 


137 


took exception to me for not being Cripps. And Cripps I 
wasn^t ! — she was right there. 

We kept company a long while, me and your Mother, before 
ever we thought of marrying — don^t know exactly what we should 
have had to eat! But likewise it was her family, where she was 
nursemaid, seein’ that the little girl, Ellen, couldn’t bear to part 
with her, nor yet she with the child. It wasn’t till she died three 
year after that I persuaded your Mother to marry. And then we 
began at Stallwood’s Cottages. I wouldn’t mind being back at 
Stallwood’s Cottages — ^I’d try to make her happier than I had 
used to, if I could start fair again! 

No, Nipper dear, I know she never complained — ^nor likely to, 
being what she was. But I wasn’t what I might have been, and 
a half -pint was often enough to make the difference. When I 
married your Mother I was as steady a young chap as you’d need 
to see in a month o’ Sundays. But I got upset like, and I remem- 
ber when it was. Your Mother couldn’t come to time after her 
first, and me going away early and Mrs. Packles often coming in 
late (though most kind and considerate) to make me up a bit of 
breakfast, I found it ’andiest to swallow half-a-pint at an early 
house on the way to work, and not to be fussin’ about eatables. 
If I had chanced to have an illness I might have got knocked off 
the habit again, but I hadn’t the luck, and it grew on me and got 
worse, and your dear Mother she had a tryin’ time.” 

My Father smoked in silence for a while with his eyes on the 
fire, as mine were. It was a fine oily coal, and made beautiful 
gas volcanoes, budding out tar for lava. We both watched one of 
these until it blew itself out with its own efforts, and suddenly 
became a jet of smoke coming straight into the room. 

“ Give it a knock with the poker, Nipper,” said he. And when 
I had done so, and the broken lump of best Wallsend, selected, 
had risen to the occasion and given a splendid blaze, he went on: 

It wasn’t that I was in any ways like Packles, or sim’lar to 
him for the matter o’ that. I expect you was too young, Joey, to 
remember Packles being bound over, in consideration of violence 
to Mrs. P., and offering resistance to the Police ? ” 

Oh dear, yes ! I remembered all about it — and ths even at my 
early age (six, I think) I had been impressed by the unnecessary 
sensitiveness of the Police force, Mr. Packles having been easily 
carried away — one might almost say wafted — by a giant in a blue 
uniform, who bore him off to retribution by the scruff of his neck 
at arm’s length, as though he had been a cat. 

“Fancy the Nipper recollecting that! Then I’ll be bail you 


138 


JOSEPH VANCE 


can recollect — ^but in coorse you can recollect — 5,11 about the Sweep 
I got the worse by over the Canal Bridge by Collyer^s Rents? 
Somewhiles I think to myself I’d like to be even with that Sweep, 
somewhiles that I ought to make him a handsome consideration. 
For it was that two months on my back that kept me to reasonable 
allowances of liquor, and your Mother she pointed out to me that 
she should cut her throat if I was to go back on the drinlc. Yet, 
mind you, Joey, I’d ’a’ been well pleased to be even with that 
Sweep, whilst your Mother was here to know of it. It don’t so 
much matter now! — more by token the pore devil’s lost the u^qf 
his eye, I’m told. Boy chucked a bit of broken glass at him that 
very day ” 

Should I tell him I was the boy? I was just on the point of 
doing so, when the thought occurred to me that if l>e only regretted 
his inability to settle scores with Peter Gunu 'because it would 
have pleased my Mother, his own satisfaction at hearing of my 
achievement would be impaired, if not destroyed, by knowing that 
my Mother could not share it, and that I had never told her of it 
during her life. An abortive suggestion (of some passing Imp, 
I suppose) that I could pretend I had told her, and she kept the 
secret for my sake, not to involve me with the Sweep, did certainly 
cross my mind; but I rejected it as impracticable, and held my 
tongue as before. My Father continued: 

^^Yes — he lost the use o’ that eye, did Gunn. Thought it was 
come all to rights and it got a back-turn a twelvemonth after, 
I was told — rather hard on the beggar! Anyhow, he got a mark 
to carry that day, and I got off better than scot-free, as you might 
say. A little stiffness at times, and what they call shy-atica now 
and then, but nothing to set against the new go-off I got ! At least 
BO your Mother thought, and I expect she was right — she mostly 
was 

‘^And I have done well, that’s the truth, since the Doctor set 
me a-going on his drains at Popular Villa. You’ll remember 
all about that, Nipper? And you a-telling and a-telling about 
Miss Lossie and the pears? Never thought in those days that I 
should live to write Christopher Vance on the front of a cheque, 
and indeed hardly on the back of one. And now ! ” 

He made a long pause, and then said: “After all, p’r’aps it’s 
not so much Gunn I ought to thank as the party that put down 
that brick-on-edge for me to tumble on. Perhaps the Finger of 
Providence put it there, as Capstick was a-sayin’. There was no 
call to stand it edgewise that I can see, anyhow ! 

“ You touch that bell, Nipper, and we’ll make the artful Slavejr 


JOSEPH VANCE 


139 


get us a cup tea. You may have the tea, and I’ll get out the 
whiskey-bottle your dear Mother kep’ in the left-hand side- 
board cupboard, for to resort to if the Doctor didn’t come when 
sent for. I’ll just go up and get the keys. Tell the young gal 
Tea ” 

The epithet applied to the slavey by my Father was not because 
she was supposed to have any special skill in her own trade — on 
the contrary, the cook, who first applied the adjective to her, wished 
it to be understood as referring to artfulness in evasion of official 
undertakings, and an undue cultivation of the society of young 
tradesmen. My Mother, on the contrary, liked this girl, and said 
if artful hussies were no worse than Feener, she could put up with 
them. The cook retreated on her entrenchments, saying, Well, 
Ma’am, I jedge a young girl by her Grates.” — My Mother was un- 
convinced, and went on putting up with Feener, which wasn’t a 
surname, but short for Seraphina. Her full name was actually 
Seraphina Dowdeswell, but it seemed incredible to me at the time 
— though I became convinced of it afterwards. 

I told this young gal Tea, and she cleared away the remains of 
lunch as a step towards it, pausing a second to remark that Master 
had eaten nothing; and he ought to try, but she knew how hard 
it was to get anything down. The poor girl was really very 
sympathetic, having been very fond of my Mother; and had 
evidently been crying. But still she was human, and I felt certain 
that she was working round towards an exposition of her own 
feelings when she lost her Aunt Sarah at Teddington. As this 
old party had been dying slowly during the last thirteen (in a life 
of ninety-seven) years, the parallel was not a happy one. So I 
didn’t encourage Feener, but sat in silence tapping a new lump 
of coal with the poker. Feener tried a conjecture that perhaps 
, Master would take some tea, and I must persuade him. Not 
being by nature morose, and feeling obliged to say something, I 
said I thought he was going to have some whiskey and water, and 
had gone to find the bottle. 

“ Well, now,” exclaimed Feener, “ I am that glad you mentioned 
it! Why, there’s hardly a glassful left! And it was only one 
bottle at a time Missis liked to have in the house ” 

“ I suppose you can get another ? ” 

“ If I was to run this minute. Master Joseph, I might just catch 
the last shutter up at Viney & Backhouse’s, and it’s only theirs 
your Father will touch, being that particular ! It’s the Pure Cairn 
Magorrachan Mountain Dew, and not to be had at the bars; not 
even at the North Pole!’' 


140 


JOSEPH VANCE 


‘^But it’s not seven o’clock yet, and they’ll never shut before 
seven — never mind the tea till you come back.” So off went 
Feener. 

I should have gone myself, but I had not enough cash; and 
neither Viney nor Backhouse would have known me from Adam. 
Feener, of course, commanded credit, being well known. My 
Father returned a moment after she left — 

“ Where’s the Tea, old man ? ” said he ; I’ve got my whiskey 

and the Nipper hasn’t got his Tea — ^what’s Celestina a-doin’ of ? ” 

It was not in my Father’s nature ever to accept any one’s own 
version of his name. So he elected to call this girl Celestina. I 
said she had gone to get another bottle of whiskey. 

There’s plenty in this here bottle,” said he, seein’ I’ve only 
just drawn the cork ! What’s the yoimg wacancy a-thinkin’ of ? ” 

I explained that she appeared to have seen a nearly empty bot- 
tle, and that she had an idea that there was never more than one 
in the house, by my Mother’s wish. 

‘‘Nor more there ever has been,” said my Father, with some 
reminiscence of his peculiar indescribable manner. “ Nor more 
there ever has been, unless you count a bottle a bottle afore the 
cork’s took out of it. Accordin’ly to me, a bottle ain’t there at all 
until you can drink it. And I’ve never had two bottles open at 
once in this house. There was a teaspoonful in the other bottle 
little Clementina saw, but I swallowed it down before I opened 
ibis.” 

I felt an indescribable chill at the quick, and I think he knew it, 
for he added: — 

“ Never you trouble, Nipper dear ! It came to exactly the same 
thing, or your old Father wouldn’t have done it. You cheer up! ” 

My faith in him was so strong that this view came easily in, 
and the chill went off. All the same, as I lay awake that night I 
remembered his prevarication, long ago, about the half -pint at the 
Koebuck, on the day of the Sweep. 


CHAPTER XVn 


Air DTEIOUSABLY LONG LETTER OP MISS LOSSIE^S — IT TELLS HOW SHS 
ADVOCATED THE CAUSE OP TEMPERANCE MORE SUCCESSFULLY THAN 
POOR MR. CAPSTICK, WHOSE INTENTIONS WERE GOOD, BUT WHO WAS 
LACKING IN TACT. AND OF HOW MR. VANCE POURED THE CAIRN 
MAGORRACHAN MOUNTAIN DEW ON THE PARLOUR FIRE. 

The following letter from Lossie to Miss Spencer shows how 
Boon I had reason for further uneasiness about my Father and 
the whiskey-bottle. It is dated months later. After some other 
matter, of no interest to us, it goes on thus: 

« Jan. 12, 1855. 

^ It’s so surprising to me that you don’t remember seeing Joe 
Vance’s Mother that afternoon. It was in the Spring of last 
year, and we had callers, and Mrs. Vance got up to go because she 
said there were* some gentlefolks coming. Then Aunty insisted on 
her stopping till she brought her down a bottle of cough-mixture 
that Vi had refused to take because it had ether in it. Don’t you 
recollect Papa saying to her that she ought not to be out in such 
an awful East-wind, and she ought to go to Torquay? And she 
said she would go at once if it wasn’t for her easy circumstances, 
meaning the encumbrances of her household. Because her hus- 
band with the best intentions persisted in increasing the num- 
ber of servants, and fancied the more there were the less trouble 
his wife would have. Of course the exact reverse was the case. 
She said to me, ^ Now, dear Miss Lossie, you take my advice and 
don’t get married if it’s to be easy circumstances. The minute 
circumstances are easy everything is difficult. If it wasn’t, my 
dear, that I know it pleases Vance, I should be truly sorry there 
was such things as circumstances at all. We was happiest with 
none, at Stallwood’s Cottages.’ And the dear woman carried away 
the bottle in her muff, and I have no doubt took it all religiously. 
And when she had gone Vi gave way to her feelings about the 
absurdity of a man like Mr. Vance wanting four servants. ^I 
suppose,’ said she, ‘they’ll be being the Christopher Vances next, 
and receiving — shouldn’t the least wonder I ’ Violet hates old 

U1 


142 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Vance, and when Joe is out of the way he catches it. However, all 
that is not what this letter is about, but only by the way. My pen 
runs on so. Nevertheless iPs Vance pere I was going to write about 
when I began, so it comes to the same thing in the end. 

‘‘ J oe spoke to me more than once before he went back to school 
at Christmas, just after his Mother’s funeral, about a fear he 
had had, now his Mother was gone, that his Father might relapse 
into his old habits — for there is no doubt that at one time he was 
much too free in his potations. As his poor dear wife said to me, 
‘Within living memory Mr. Vance has been two opposite poles.’ 
I am quite certain that her mind was contentedly accepting two 
telegraph poles, or perhaps greasy poles at a fair, pointing in op- 
posite directions, as the metaphor intended in this expression. 
Living memory must have meant five years or so — as she went on 
to say that for that term at least Temperance itself was not to be 
compared. But poor Joe told me that once or twice during her 
illness he had felt an alarm, and been afraid of the possible results 
of the cessation of her influence. He has written to me a good 
deal about it from school, and about a week since I had a most 
alarmed and terrified letter from the poor boy, enclosing part of 
one he had received from an old friend, the Rev. Mr. Capstick, 
giving an account of certain behaviour of his Father’s. He must 
have been very violent to Mr. C., expressing forcible opinions about 
what the Apostle Paul would have done to show his resentment of 
Mr. C.’s assumption of priestly authority. Joe declined to give 
any abstract from the portion of Mr. C.’s letter he had cut out, but 
said in his own, ‘ You know, the governor does butter it on so very 
thick when he gets worked up, especially if it’s old Capstick.’ So 
I have to live uninformed. I won’t send Capstick’s letter, as I 
don’t suppose Joe would like me to, but I can give an idea of it. 
It bristles with references to Scripture, threatening poor Vance 
that he shall be cast into outer darkness, where is wailing and 
gnashing of teeth (Matt. xxii. 13), and as a reference to Mr. V.’s 
trade as a Builder, contrives to drag in Nehemiah ii. 20, which has 
nothing whatever to do with the matter. He also has references to 
Daniel v. 4, 25, 26, 27, 28 — Jeremiah, 1. 2, 3 — Habakkuk, ii. 16, 
which none of them appear to be relevant to the main point, which 
is briefly that Mr. Capstick has endeavoured (conscientiously, no 
doubt) to influence Mr. Vance to be more moderate about whiskey 
and water, and had affirmed that wine was a mocker, and strong 
drink was raging. To which V. replied that he seldom or never 
touched wine, and that he didn’t consider whiskey and water was 
strong drink, unless there was a great deal more whiskey than water. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


143 


Joe’s letter says he infers that the interview had ended by his 
Eather losing his temper and kicking Capstick out of doors, which 
certainly would not have happened if he had not taken too much. 
He says he’s been unusually easy with Capstick since Mrs. Vance 
died, on the ground of her friendship for him. Even when Cap- 
stick affirmed that her Salvation was by no means a Certainty, and 
that it would be presumptuous to think so, Mr. Vance merely re- 
ferred to his having made her Salvation a condition precedent of 
believing anything at all. He then (according to Joe, who told me 
this sometime ago) wound up by saying, ^ It’s all fair and square. 
Master Capstick. What you say is, I shall be damned if I won’t 
believe, and what I say is. I’ll be danmed if I will. So anyhow, I 
am damned ! ’ I’m so glad Vi isn’t looking over my shoulder. 

“ W ell, dear, getting this letter from J oe, what ought I to have 
done? I’ll tell you what I did do, and I hope you’ll think it was 
right. I told Papa, and he said certainly I should do wisely to 
go and talk to Vance (which was my daring proposal). Much 
better, he said, than his talking to him, which would only put his 
back up, and do more harm than good. So I took my courage in 
both hands and went at once. I found the going easy enough. It 
was the talking! 

‘^However, it had got to be done, and I had to do it. I con- 
structed several hinges on my way to turn the conversation on, 
and forgot them all by the time I reached Clapham and found 
Mr. Vance’s slavey (as he calls her) talking to the Butter in a 
high wind at the front gate. The men’s dinner-bell was just ring- 
ing at the works, so Mr. Vance would be round almost directly. I 
was shown into his little room at the back, where he has lived al- 
most entirely since his wife died, and had leisure looking out of 
the window at the gate of the works, and noting the stream of 
men pouring out to go to dinner, to wonder at the extraordinary 
succession of strokes of luck (or has it been genius? — ^that’s what 
Papa thinks) that has developed such a great business concern in 
less than five years I For these men that I saw were only the men 
in the shops — engineers and carpenters and so on. How many he 
has on all his jobs altogether I can’t guess. But Joe told me that 
the land on which he has built these shops will soon not be enough 
for Christopher Vance, Builder and Contractor, who began with a 
humble announcement of a desire to attend to Drains on the short- 
est notice. Only five years ago! Just fancy! 

‘^I went on just fancying, and looking through the red glass 
of the window, which made the whole prosperous concern vermil- 
ion, till I was stopped by the voice of its proprietor, who when 


144 


JOSEPH VANCE ‘ 


I turned round to greet him naturally looked sickly greeny grey, 
clothes and all. Never mind, thought I, he’ll gravitate hack to a 
decent colour in time. 

^ Lookin’ at all my idle beggars turnin’ out for their dinners. 
Miss Lossie ? Coin’ to have a pound of steak apiece, each o’ those 
chaps is, and as much beer as he can hold full up.’ Mr. Vance 
suggested the highest possible beer level with his finger across his 
throat. ‘ And then every livin’ man- jack of ’em will go off sound 
asleep and come in late and be fined. I’ll wager ! And how do you 
do. Miss, and your respected father?’ We did well. ^Has little 
Clementina offered you anything by way of refreshment — tea, 
corfy, cake, effervescin’ drinks? Not so much as a dry biscuit. 
I’ll be bail! She’s a-colloguin’ with a young shaver across the 
gate, and disregardin’ the civilities. There’s the cook goin’ out 
arter her — I can hear her.’ 

“ I couldn’t identify the sound as he did, but I received an im- 
pression like that one has when a group of fowls, walking about 
on one course of its dinner, is suddenly scattered by the next 
course being flung over its backs. But Clementina, being dispersed, 
did not gather again, and the shaver went away whistling. 

“‘But, dear Mr. Vance, I’ve only just done breakfast. You 
know how late we are at home? I shouldn’t be able to eat any 
lunch! Eor goodness’ sake don’t order anything for me.’ 

“ ‘ And bein’ you ain’t a young chap, I can’t offer a cigar. Can’t 
do anything. Miss Lossie, seemingly ? ’ He looked dejected. 

“ ‘ Yes, you can, Mr. Vance! You can ask me what I came here 
for at this early hour in the morning.’ 

“ ‘ What might it be then. Miss Lossie ? That’s asking.’ 

“ ‘ I’ve something to say to you, that’s very difficult to say. I 
want you to help me.’ 

“ Poor man ! He was so good about it. He at once saw I was 
in distress about something, though he didn’t guess what. 

“ ‘ Goard bless my life and soul. Miss Lossie ! ’ he burst out. 
‘Why, ain’t I Joe Vance’s father, and ain’t you Doctor Thorpe’s 
daughter what sent my boy to school, and for that matter did 
more to set me a-goin’ than — well, then! than ever I deserved? 
Why, there’s nothing, nothing, I wouldn’t go halfway to for the 

like Halfway! All the way.’ He stopped, and I think got 

a gleam. ‘Am I to be blowed up for anything? If so, just you 
fire away free — I’ll be bail I shall deserve it.’ 

“I was so grateful to him for the lift he had given, that I 
could hardly find it in my heart to attack him. But I went on — ^ 

“ ‘ I’ve had a letter from Joe, and he’s very uneasy about you.’ 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


145 


*‘‘What, my Nipper? Uneasy about me?^ I think the gleam 
increased, but he waited for me to go on. 

‘ Joe had had a letter from Mr. Capstick, which had made him 
lie awake.’ Mr. Vance flushed slightly, and he set his lips close 
for a moment. I could see his likeness to Joe, whom I had always 
supposed to be only like his mother. ‘ You mustn’t be angry with 
old Capstick — he’s only an old goose.’ But Mr. Vance only looked 
partially mollified. ‘ What’s the old goose been a-writin’ of to my 
Nipper?’ said he. Then as I was beginning to speak he stopped 
me with — ‘ No, that ain’t truthful of me — I know what he’s been 
writing about. What did he say?’ 

‘‘I gave a short extract of the letter, which indeed, minus the 
Scripture references, was not so very long in itself, and said what I 
could to soften matters. But the main fact was beyond softening. 
Mr. C. had made an organized attack, supported by quotations, 
at a moment when, according to him, Mr. V. was in a condition to 
supply an object lesson, and had paid the penalty of his rashness 
by being ejected from the house. I said I thought it was wrong 
and cruel of him to go away and write to a boy of fourteen as he 
had done — but he really was too great a fool for it to be worth 
Mr. Vance’s while to thinly about him. ‘ But Joe evidently thinks,’ 
I said, ^that you cannot have been quite yourself, or you would 
never have been so violent with him, as he says you have generally 
treated him as a sort of joke, and made game of him. You know,’ 
I added, coming to the point, * you must have been very violent with 
him to make him write to your own son that he thought it was ’ ■ 

‘ Whiskey,’ said he. 

“ ‘ That’s what he said,’ I replied. ‘ And Joe must have thought 
there was something in it, or he wouldn’t have written to me about 
it at all. As Joe says in his letter, it doesn’t at all follow that he’a 
telling lies because he gives a reference to Scripture every two or 
three words.’ 

‘ Don’t it? ’ said Mr. Vance. ‘Let’s have a look at Joe’s letter. 
Miss Lossie.’ I explained that I had purposely left Joe’s letter 
at home, not to be tempted to show it, as Joe would not expect me 
to show it, though I did not suppose that he would have been afraid 
to write exactly the same to him. But I wanted Joe always to 
write without reserve, and was not sure he would always do so, if I 
showed a letter of his, even to his Father. The point didn’t seem 
to trouble the latter much — it may be that being, as he used to 
say, a short scollard, he did not care to decipher manuscript under 
inspection. Anyhow, he did not press it, and recurred to Cap- 
etick’s veracity. He evidently thought this doubtful, but admitted 


146 


JOSEPH VANCE 


that Scriptural quotations and accurate statements might creep 
occasionally into the same document, although it could only be 
regarded as accident when they did so. 

^ Psalm-singers is mostly liars,^ said he, ^ and Capstick’s no 
better nor worse than the rest of ’em. Still, as you say. Miss 
Lossie, he might be right, in the manner of speaking, by accident, 
once in a way. He might have said he’d seen me the worse for 
liquor when I was the worse but never showed it* And then he’d 
have been right by accident, but a liar for all that. Because his 
attitood in respect of me should have been that I was as sober as a 
Beadle — seemin’ so to him — ^hay, Miss Lossie ? ’ 

“I couldn’t help laughing at this. ^ Oh, Mr. Vance,’ said I. 

* You’re just like the pickpocket that said that it was true he’d 
stolen the pocket-handkerchief he was caught running away with, 
but that all the others in hi^pocket had got there by accident. You 
know that evening you turned Mr. Capstick out you must have 
been ’ 

“ ‘ Drunk ? ’ said he. It always fell to him to say the word. 

“ ‘ Well — something like it. And of course you imagined you 
didn’t show it. Do you suppose — ^pardon me for speaking so freely 
— ^you said speak freely ?’ 

^ Cut along, dear Miss Lossie,’ said he. 

— ‘ Do you suppose hundreds, thousands of the victims of this 
awful habit are not under the same delusion — ^that they don’t 
show it? Isn’t it true, rather, that one and all of them go on 
under that delusion until it is too late to go back, and then find 
they have been a byword of the neighbours for years? And if 
only one friend had come to them in time, and spoken the bold 
and honest truth, as I speak it to you now, for Joe’s sake and your 
own, — how different it might be, so often! It cannot be too late 
now for you, for as far as I know no one fears it but Joe — at 
least no one has said anything to me.’ I paused, for I had a 
misgiving that I was weakening my own advocacy, and giving a 
sort of license to go on a little until public attention was attracted. 
But I don’t think I did. ^You know, Mr. Vance,’ I went on, ^ it 
is only because I believe Joe’s fears are a little exaggerated that 
I see any use in speaking to you about it at all. If I really 
thought you had got into anything like a habit of ^ 

‘ Boozing ? ’ said he, saving me the ugly word again. 

^ That sort of thing,’ I replied, and then went on — ‘ I shouldn’t 
think anything I could say would be of any avail at all. But all 
this is only since ’ 

‘ My wife died. Yes, my dear. And right you are, all along 


JOSEPH VANCE 


147 


the line. Stop a half-a-minute ! ’ He went to a writing-table at 
the window I had seen the vermilion view through, and brought out 
a bundle of accounts. 

“ ‘ Here we are — Viney & Backhouse, Wine Merchants to H. M. 
the King of the Belgiums, hm — ^hm — ^hm! One dozen McCorquo- 
dale’s celebrated Pure Cairn Magorrachan Mountain Dew, one 
dozen ditto, one dozen ditto! My dear Miss Lossie, you’re right 
all along the line. Be out some one else has been having a swig! 
Little Clementina,’ to the maid who was laying the cloth for 
lunch, ^how much Pure Cairn Magorrachan Mountain Dew have 
you had out of these here bottles since we had them by the 
dozen ? ’ 

‘ Law, Master ! ’ said little Clementina. 

^ What a shame ! ’ said I. ‘ Never mind Mr. Vance, Seraphina.’ 

‘ Law, Miss,’ replied Seraphina, rightly so called by me. 
‘Fancy mindin’ Master!’ And retired undisturbed. Master re- 
sumed^ 

“ ‘ Yes — ^you’re right, Miss Lossie. Pd no idea I’d worked through 
such a show of liquor.’ He put the account back with a sigh, and 
then went on, speaking with his back to me as he stood at the desk. 
‘ When my dear wife was alive it was she that stood between me 
and the ’Abit. But I was off and on, off and on. Till I got that 
bad lay-up — it might have been three months before I did that 
job at your Governor’s. Did Joe ever tell you of my fight with a 
Sweep ? ’ 

“‘No — not a word.’ 

“‘Good boy! He thought it best for his daddy to keep his 
mouth shut. Well, I got laid up two months and couldn’t move. 
An d my Nellie she stopped off all intoxicants, and when I got 
round I didn’t want ’em somehow. And she said next time I got 
concerned in liquor, she’d cut her throat straight off. So I knocked 
it all off, and my luck began ’ 

“ I had a sort of feeling that I had said all I needed to say, and 
that rubbing it in might be a mistake. The mere fact that I had 
come to see him after the receipt of Joe’s letter, and told him its 
contents, seemed to me to carry full weight, and that lecturing 
and amplification could add nothing and might even do harm. So 
I said nothing, and Mr. Vance continued still standing at the 
desk and looking through the vermilion glass at the Workshops. 

“‘And luck it has been — ^job follerin’ job. Haven’t stood a 
day idle since that day five year agone when I set my man to 
peck up your front garden with a peck and a shovel I had to 
borrow off a friend, and a barrer ’ired on credit. He’s foreman 


148 


JOSEPH VANCE 


now on a contract job down by Cherry Garden pier — ^payin’ a 
hundred and fifteen and sixpence a week in wages, barring over- 
time, and if he don’t complete by December the first, a fine of 
fifty pounds per diem for every day overdue. But it ain’t of 
much use, that I can see, all of it ! ’ 

hope he will complete, Mr. Vance,’ said I, appalled by the 
magnitude of these figures. 

‘‘‘Trust William,’ said Mr. Vance. I remembered William. 
‘We shall never have to pay a brass farden in fines — not 
we! ’ 

“‘How on earth have you managed to do it, Mr. Vance?’ He 
turned round from the window to reply. ‘ By never doing a hand’s 
turn myself. Miss Lossie,’ said he. ‘If I was to, I should spile 
all. If I was to add up a colunm of figures, I should add ’em up 
wrong. If I was to mix a yard o’ concrete, I should mix it wrong. 
If I was only to try to tenant up a window frame, I should tenant 
it up wrong. So I just set a couple o’ young men on to adding 
up, and if either catches the other out it’s a shillin’ off o’ one’s 
salary on to the other. Sim’lar all through! 

“‘Never you do anything yourself. Miss Lossie. That’s where 
the mistake comes in. Why, when I was putting down my ma- 
chinery, four year ago, do you suppose I ever so much as looked 
at it? Not I! I says to the Engineer — chap from Manchester — 
“My friend,” says I, “if you want to attend to this little job, 
what you’ve got to bear in mind is this — I want to employ rather 
more than two hundred hands in this here yard, and you can find 
out a sight better than I can how much power each o’ them ’ll want 
off the engine. All I say is, don’t ask me ! You can see my fore- 
man of jiners, and ask him how much he wants. And the head 
Smith, you can see him and find what ’ll satisfy him. But don’t 
bother me about whether the Boiler is to be Cornish or Lancashire, 
nor yet about condensing engines nor high pressures nor low 
pressures. Just you make a drawing and a contract and say what 
sort o’ security you can give me for having all complete by Christ- 
mas, and I shall send you on without openin’ you, to my Con- 
sultin’ Engineer in George Street, Westminster, and he’ll square 
up with you.” Now if I’d gone interferin’ betwixt him and my 
foreman, a nice how-do-you-do there’d ’a’ been ! ’ 

“‘But, Mr. Vance, had you a Consulting Engineer in Great 
George Street, Westminster ? ’ 

“ ‘ O’ coorse I had. Miss Lossie. I’d never consulted him, and 
never have, but he’d have been my Consulting Engineer by the time 
I’d consulted him, and I’d no need for him until I’d done so. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


14d 

Anyhow, the end was I got as good a jiner’s shop as any in London. 
IPs well known how many fingers are taken off by band-saws in 
ten years, according to the number of horses-power transmitted, in 
any first-class shop, and though I can’t remember the figures, I 
know we’re well below the average. In some shops you’ll find a 
loose finger in the saw-dust as often as not, when swep’ up.’ 

I heard Clementina’s breath taken away by this awful revela- 
tion, and thinking it would be kind to utilize my incredulous ex- 
pression to reassure her, I turned round, and saw that she vras 
laying a place for me. So I 'judged it time to go. Mr. Vancr 
accompanied me to the front gate. 

“ ‘ What we was talkin’ about,’ said he, touching my hand slightly 
with his forefinger — and his voice lost the sort of good-humoured 
nasal twang it always had when he was talking at random, and 
became serious, ‘Don’t you fret about it. Miss Lossie, and don’t 
you let the Nipper fret. I’ll take good care — I know where ta- 
stop. It ’ll be all right.’ 

“I felt this attitude was a certain preliminary to its being all 
wrong, and that I ought to tell him his only chance would be in 
total abstinence, for a time at any rate. I was irresolute for a 
moment. Then all in an instant. Heaven only knows why, there 
shot into my mind a conversation I had had with Mrs. Vance 
years before. I had completely forgotten it. She had used to me 
the very expression then that her husband had just used. Her 
words were — ‘ My dear Miss Lossie, if all the men that laiow where 
to stop, stopped, it would be all right But they know and they 
don’t do it.’ 

“I repeated this word for word to Mr. Vance, adding, ‘Do you 
know who said that to me, one day at your old cottage gate, years 
and years ago ? It seems to me as if I could see and hear her now — 
almost as if I had just left her and she had told me to tell you — 
almost as if it had been yesterday — in the next street. J ust think ! 
If it had.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, if ! ’ said he, dreamily, and then added ‘ Good-bye, Miss 
Lossie. God bless you, my dear ! It shall he all right.’ 

“ I had gone a few paces when I heard him call me back. ‘ Half 
a minute. Miss Lossie,’ said he. ^ Would you mind stepping back 
into the house, just for one half-a-minute ? ’ 

“ I did so. A new-drawn whiskey-bottle stood on the table, just 
placed there by the young gal. He took it up, took out the cork, 
and deliberately poured it on the fire, sending a splendid blue 
blaze up the chimney. Clementina, coming in with the gist, or 
eubstance of the luncheon, was stricken too dumb to say well she 


150 


JOSEPH VANCE 


never, but stood meaning it and forgetting to put down her tray 
in the excitement and rejoicing incident to fireworks. 

“‘IPs no use smashing the bottle,’ said Mr. Vance, turning 
to me as the last flicker died down. ‘ Because there’s a penny on 
the bottle. But you see. Miss Lossie, it ’ll be all right now.’ 

“ I went home happy. I felt as if I had carried him a mesage 
from the beyond. Papa says he believes he’ll be all right, for a 
good while at any rate. , . 

The letter ends with apologies for its great length, and a few 
particulars of family matters. 


CHAPTER XVin 


4L TALE OF joe’s PUGNACITY AT SCHOOL. OF HIS FATHER’S ABSTINENCE. 
MUCH ABOUT HIS NAMESAKE JOEY, WHICH WE WOULD OMIT IF WE 
COULD DO W’lTHOUT IT. OF THE RAPIDITY OF HIS FATHER’S RISE. 
OF HOW HE SAW NOLLY, BUT THE OTHER DAY, AND COULD NOT SPEAK 
WITH HIM. OF HOW LOSSIE IS STILL LIVING, IN ITALY. 

Probably it falls to the lot of very few people to have such an 
opportunity of finding out how much they have forgotten as this 
old packet of letters has given me. 

This last one brought back to my mind the fact that my 
Father, shortly after completing his Works on the piece of land 
in the rear of our house, had acquired also about an acre between 
it and the railway, thereby becoming possessor of an ideal place 
for the accumulation of bricks and timber. I had completely for- 
gotten this. It brought back also the way in which Mr. Cap- 
stick’s letter arrived at the school. The lodge where the Postman 
delivered the letters was just within hearing of the room where I, 
with others, was profitably employed in the making of bad Latin 
verses, and I caught my name in the colloquy between that Ofiiolal 
and the Gate-Porter. There was a letter directed to me, Mr. J. 
Vance, Junr., and the sorters had kept the letter outside the parcel 
which was handed in in a lump for later distribution, as all my 
letters had hitherto been to Master Joseph (or Master Joe) Vance. 
This disquieted me, and I was constrained to plead my distrac- 
tion as an excuse for an hexameter without a caesura — which, as 
all the classical world knows, is a thing it would have been soundly 
flogged for when it was a boy. I recollected the fact of having had 
a letter from Mr. Capstick, and of my writing to Lossie, but it 
had all grown dim (in more than forty years of oblivion) and the 
letter brought it all back again. It also identified itself to me as 
the cause of a thrilling incident, which was not without its in- 
fluence on my after life. For a contemptuous word about her 
from a boy bigger than myself exasperated me as I read it, and 
led to his receiving as savage a thrashing as a boy of my years 
could give, in a fight lasting over thirty minutes by my second’s 

151 


152 


JOSEPH VANCE 


watch, which fight would, I suspect, still be found among the 
school traditions. If ever you meet an old St. Withold’s boy, ask 
him if he ever heard of the great fight between little Vance and 
Bony Macallister. I am afraid I was rather pugnacious— 
probably inherited it from my Father, who had indeed been most 
successful in his encounters until he came across that fatal Sweep. 
Poor Bony Macallister, I may remark, had merely looked over my 
shoulder and observed that that wasnH my Fancy GurFs hand- 
writing, which it wasn’t. I think now that I was unjust and 
precipitate to go for him as I did then and there. We were 
separated, and the fight put on a proper footing. We naturally 
became great friends after, more puerorum. But I must not allow 
him to lead me altogether away from what I was saying. 

I gather, then, from this letter, and from what I can remember 
of concurrent incident, that had it not been for Lossie’s courage- 
ous dash at the position, my anxieties about my Father at that 
time might still have continued. As it was, when I returned at 
the end of ’65 for the Christmas holiday, and he and I eat our 
Christmas dinner at Poplar Villa by invitation, he took almost 
nothing to drink, and what little he did take was only in honour 
of the occasion. He was pleased to represent himself as the vic- 
tim of Lossie’s tyranny (she perfectly understanding his humour, 
and accepting it, as rather facilitating the position than other- 
wise), saying down the length of the table, in the indescribable 
nasal way which seemed too lazy to articulate — “Don’t you put 
any brandy over my corner of the puddin’. Miss Lossie; or after 
two sherry and sodas and ’arf-a-glass o’ port I shall be rollin’ 
about under the table.” To which she replied, “ It’s too late now, 
Mr. Vance! You should have spoken before. You’ll have to find 
out how to leave the brandy and eat the pudding for yourself. 
Or you needn’t totally abstain from it if somebody else does, you 
know. Ask Aunty to, or you can totally abstain from hers, for 
that matter. That will make it square ! ” And the reference to 
Aunty was rash, as it attracted her attention, and the difficulty of 
explaining the idea of making good an indulgence in one glass 
of spirits, by totally abstaining from another, may be imagined, 
when it had to be instilled into an unreceptive mind through a 
deaf ear. 

And I had quite forgotten all that too till after I had read the 
letter ! And now I can shut my smarting eyes in the London fog, 
and almost hear again Lossie’s attempts to shout the explanation, 
nearly crying with laughter all the while at the perfect hopeless- 
ness of it. Did the man who rolled down the Matterhorn reallyj 


JOSEPH VANCE 163 

jecoUect every incident in his life before he reached the bottom, 
as he said he did ? 

Had I to write from memory alone an account of my EathePs 
relations with the bottle at this date, it would have run somewhat 
thus — He was rather less sober as a widower than before my 
Mother’s death; but his interest in his business, and I think the 
influence of Dr, Thorpe and his daughter Lucilla, kept him from 
excesses.” Perhaps no more than this is absolutely necessary to 
my story. It is difficult to draw a line when one is without artistic 
ability, which I have been frequently assured is the case with me. 
The shortest biography I ever saw was the word Vixit alone on a 
tombstone — ^perhaps the proportion of the detail of Lossie’s let- 
ter to the importance of its contents runs too much into the op- 
posite extreme. 

I wish these letters supplied one or two things which I have so 
far been unable to find. Of course they may turn up later, as I 
go on with my opening and perusal of the packets; but though I 
have expected them I have been disappointed hitherto. • 

Eor instance, some clue to the changes which converted my 
namesake Joey from a comically voluble, but very lovable, baby 
to a rather pert and selfish, but by no means lovable, boy. For I 
have to record this transformation with a misgiving that a real 
author, skilful in making use of intractable materials, would 
soften it down somewhat, to accommodate it to his reader’s powers 
of deglutition. I cannot do this sort of thing. But I should be 
glad of a lift — and am living in hope that something will turn up. 

For there is nothing stranger in Nature than the development 
of odiousness. What an entirely delightful person was * * * * * 
when he was eight months old, in all the bloom of his creases, 
furnished with a matchless na^e to his neck in which his appre- 
ciators might burrow; his premature baldness beginning to show a 
light down of premature hair; his premature arms that wouldn’t 
bend at the joints, being held by two firm but tender crease-flanks; 
and that always did precisely the same thing suddenly; his de- 
lightful practice of stopping abruptly at the end of the first 
syllable of a speech. What an entirely satisfactory and adequate 
little human creature as far as it went! And look at it now that 
it has gone forty years farther. I ask you, at the risk of outrage 
to your feelings and Mrs. Grundy’s, to say what you would do 

* * * * * -^ere fetched down now in his nightgown to be 
shown? Well! both times it would be himself and none other! 
'And just think, when he gets on his legs (for he is in Parliament), 
how pleased the other grown-up infants would be if he stopped 


154 JOSEPH VANCE 

suddenly short at the first syllable of his speech, and let them off 
the rest. 

However (as you will say probably), this is only the inevitable 
change incident to all humanity. So it is, but what I want to 
get to is that my namesake changed even more than this, though 
this is strange enough. I don’t wish to suggest that *****, 
who is a most respectable man, and well known in public life, is 
one scrap more repulsive and detestable as compared with his 
early half than you or me. I was philosophizing, and now I’m 
ashamed, and beg pardon. Let me get back to Joey Thorpe. 

Joey then changed more than was reasonable. It may be said 
that in this respect of selfishness that he didn’t change, but 
remained a baby, — only self-seeking is charming in a baby, while 
altruism, if it takes the form of requiring you to suck what it has 
already sucked, is as unpleasant as benevolence that won’t let 
you choose your own benefits, but drubs and thwacks them into 
you and is shocked if you are not truly thankful, Amen ! On the 
other hand, a boy in his teens is not nice enough yer se to carry 
off much more self-seeking than is his privilege as a man; nor is 
he ever so odious but he may make himself still more so by always 
taking and never giving. Self-help is a glorious thing, and one of 
our numerous birthrights, but it should stop short of helping 
oneself to all the gravy in the dish. 

I hope all this constitutes a broad enough hint of the sort of 
thing that disconcerted me in Joey as he changed from boy to 
man. It is very irritating in Human Nature to go and behave so, 
especially when you necessarily must and do love the creature in 
which the change is wrought. For how could I be off loving Joseph 
Thorpe, when I could still see in his rather hard and cold eyes the 
slightly projecting orbs of the dear little midget that so nearly 
got stuck to his sister the first time I saw him, by kissing her too 
tight ? and could hear in his easy and melodious speech the articula- 
tion of the baby who kept us all amused with his prompt ap- 
propriation and perversion of every new phrase that reached his 
little pink ears? Everybody spoiled Joey in those days, myself as 
much as any one. There are some children whom it seems natural 
to spoil, and a general agreement to that end is epidemic — so much 
so that an isolated stand against it only makes its originator un- 
popular. Such a stand from a sense of duty appears like a con- 
demnation of the rest of the world; and is apt to be imputed to 
personal dislike. This was impossible in Joey’s case — at least, 
while he was still a baby. He was lovable per se, until he began 
showing what he meant to be like later. Besides he was Lossie’s 


JOSEPH VANCE 


155 


other Joey, so of course he was ineligible for my hatred. He 
was irritating all the same, especially when he was selfish and 
ungrateful to his sister, who spoiled him nearly as much as we 
did. “ But she shouldn’t have spoiled him at all,” I hear you say ^ 
Very well, then! She shouldn’t. I make you a free present of the 
admission, but it can’t be altered now. It’s too late. 

Clearly, in these early days, I wasn’t in love with Lossie. Ask 
any one who knows the Tender Passion — he or she will at once 
say I couldnH have been in love with her, or I should have been 
jealous of my young namesake and hated him. I didn’t then 
certainly, and changes of feeling during manhood were certainly 
not connected with jealousy. This I hope to explain later, if I 
live to complete this narrative. As for what the nature of my 
devotion to Lossie was, I am inclined to think that it resembled 
the rich gold mine Brer Rabbit made for himself. It was an 
invention of my own; and I still think, in spite of everything that 
has happened, that of all my many inventions it is the one that 
has paid best. 

Very likely other things in this narrative may be made by me 
to seem improbable, for want of skill in the telling. And yet, 
there they were! 

, For instance, I find at the first introduction of my Father to 
the Thorpe family, that he appears in the character (socially 
speaking) of a Man. That is to say, he belongs to the class that is 
spoken to in the passage; that never brings its tools and has to go 
away for them; that abounds on planks and ladders overhead, and 
calls out Be-low to the earthbound passer-by ; that is sure to be 
out of the house by Saturday and never is. And now I am writ- 
ing of him only some six years later as the invited guest to Dr. 
Thorpe’s table on Christmas Day! I know it seems improbable, 
but it is not that the succession of events is improbable; only 
that they happened within a very short time. Let us imagine 
the same succession of events in double the time. Figure to your- 
seK that a Man (as per description) whom you were first conscious 
of in corduroy, with a flavour, reappears in twelve months in a suit 
of tweed and a hat which, though a billycock in proportion, has a 
stiff brim and no pocket-handkerchief in it. Do you not feel it 
quite natural that two years later, when he calls to submit an 
estimate, he should do so in a neat gig, which stands at the door 
and is said a Who-ah ” to, while you confer with him about his 
wish to spare you expense? And three years later, when you have 
wondered whether it would be worth his while now to undertake 
your new little job (three times as big as the other little job), and 


166 


JOSEPH VANCE 


you have timidly suggested it, does it not seem consecutive that he 
should drive up to your door in a bang-up turn-out and pair, 
attired in broadcloth and yellow kid gloves, and a sacred stove- 
pipe hat to crown all ? Of course it does, and so much so that you 
will probably ask him if he won^t sit down and take some lunch 
with you and yours. If he doesn’t this time, he will next. It is 
simply a question of time and a sense of cheque-books. 

I think if you infuse into this train of imaginary incidents an 
analogy of my own exceptional relations with the Thorpe family 
and take my word for the authenticity of the letters, you won’t feel 
so very incredulous about my Father’s sudden exaltation. 

Not more, perhaps, than I do at this moment. For, seeing no 
chance of deciphering more of the letters in this hideous darkness, 
I have put them away with my manuscript, and have now nothing 
to bring back to me a single memory of those days. Even the 
jargon of my attendant, which I feel ought by rights to resemble 
that of Mrs. Packles or Feener, is as unlike as it can well be. 
When I ask her what was that row last night, in the street behind, 
just on to midnight, she replies that it was a lidy with a hiby, 
fighting with another lidy, and both were took off to the stytion. 
Nobody had that accent in my boyhood. Even the pothouse from 
which the two ladies had to be removed is completely changed. 
In the fifties I know exactly what it was like — flaring gas-jets — • 
huge plate-glass windows blocked with giant numerals printed 
on paper to show how cheaply the filthy fluids on sale would harden 
the livers and soften the brains of their consumers — a compo front 
painted with four coats of stone-colour, two flat and two round, 
every three years — all woodwork ditto in Brunswick Brown — ^not 
because it was the George the Fourth, but because that brown was 
a good out-o’-door colour — and a flamboyant Lion and Unicorn 
fighting for a crown much too big for either of them on the corner 
of the first-floor. — It is still the George the Fourth, but the gas- 
jets no longer sow wild oats of lamp-black — ^they are ranges. A 
wedding of Heat and Light has an offspring of Incandescence, and 
all is steady and demure. The announcements on the windows are 
glass letters, scorning the ephemeral, and recording serene facts 
superior to change. The compo front has gone and is now rebuilt 
with red-rubbers and terra-cotta facings, and a.s for the woodwork 
it is quite beautiful with Art-colours, and the entrance to the 
private bar is lined with Art-tiles covered with Art-lustres. But 
the owner still imports his own Brandy, and all the other fllth is 
what it was in the other filth-house. Now, as then, there is nothing 
|o eat, except it be sausages and mashed potatoes. Now, as then. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


157 


there may be seen on Saturday nights an oppressed African sing- 
ing, through a swing-door on the jar, of the joys of South Carolina; 
for George the Fourth is not licensed for music, and he has to 
palter idly with the sacred truth, and pretend he doesn^t notice. 
And when he rewards the musician’s efforts, he pretends it isn’t a 
banjo into which he drops his coins, but some inexplicable res- 
onant ladle, thrust in from pure greed, by a passing negro. 

I noted these particulars this morning before the fog became too 
thick while I was taking my morning walk. And the young 
woman who is now bringing in my chop was doing the steps, and 
her apron strap coming off she borrowed a pin of me, and while 
she pinned herself up for further kneeling, she told me about the 
two ladies, and I stood talking to her, and thought her hand and 
arm like Vi Thorpe’s, only for the rough work and soap and 
water spoiling it. No! Now that the letters are back on their 
shelf in the chiffonier under the book-case, and Betsy Austin, the 
young lady above mentioned, is bringing me in a probably under- 
done chop and potatoes in their skins with buttons on them in 
recesses like armchair cushions, — (for am I not in England?) — 
there really is absolutely nothing in the room to bring back that 
remote time. And I am sadly in want of landmarks during the 
latter period of my schooldays. It is rather like a voyage on a 
calm sea out of sight of land. St. Withold, I suppose, was too 
busy with the new boys to make my life very detestable to me, or 
perhaps my inveterate studiousness procured immunities. I was 
expected to do the school credit, and had peace. In my holiday 
times I gave a good deal of instruction to J oey Thorpe, and found 
him a good pupil — in fact, a clever one. I had no fault with him 
on that score. He developed a taste for literature; and had a 
marked faculty for clever flippant writing, prose and verse, which 
led to his becoming very vain. It was singular that a boy 
who had had so very little schooling should have matured so 
early. 

I mean by this that his intelligence matured, and he read con- 
tinually, and remembered what he read. But this did not seem to 
interfere with his remaining (the phrase was Lossie’s) as great a 
baby as ever. If he did not get what he wanted, he would become 
very irritable, and almost cry with vexation. I suppose it was 
this seeming childishness that made us hope he did not fully un- 
derstand his own literary propensities. I am sure Lossie for one 
did not believe that he understood half the expressions he made 
use of in the verse he wrote (even at fifteen or sixteen). I recollect 
his father saying to me once, “ I wish J oey wouldn’t be so Anglo* 


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JOSEPH VANCE 


Saxon,” and I remarked I supposed it was the modern tendency 
in poetry to discard Latin derivatives, and that Tennyson had set 
the example. 

don’t mean that,” said the Doctor. ‘‘Pm referring to a 
practice our Anglo-Saxon ancestors had of always calling spades 
spades, and rarely talking about anything else. Poor Loss said 
to me yesterday after he read us his last new verses that it was em- 
barrassingly Scriptural, but of course the darling child hardly 
understood what he had written, so it would be a pity to say any- 
thing to him about it and make him think. ‘ Oh, don’t you know. 
Papa,’ says she, ^ when it’s reading the Bible, and you don’t know 
which way to look ! ’ If it wasn’t for Lossie I should read Master 
Joey a lecture — ^but she seems so very sure that he doesn’t realize 
the meaning of a lot of what he writes, and only uses expressions 
that have acquired a standard picturesqueness, and are now known 
to be right in Poetry, that I really feel I might put my foot in it. 
Suppose he were to turn on me and ask me what that very Eliza- 
bethan expression he used — you remember ? — really meant ! I 
should feel bound to explain, and I’m not sure I shouldn’t do best 
to leave it alone. I keep on hoping for the development, in Joey, 
of the faculty of Good Taste, as we old fogies used to call it. It’s 
a quality of the inner soul, that gives a bias to the intellect. So 
long as it remains dormant, I am bound to say I object to Poets. 
Of course I don’t object to Joey altogether, but I object to his 
faculties growing at such a rate while he himself remains 
stationary.” 

It was this remark of Dr. Thorpe that first suggested to me his 
view that we afterwards conversed so much about; that when we 
talk of the Soul, we mean the Self, and that it would be a far more 
logical way to talk of a Soul’s Man than of a Man’s Soul. If so, 
we ought to speak sometimes thus — ^‘That splendid soul has a 
little snub-nosed, squinting — ^hunchback,” instead of That little, 
etc., has a splendid soul.” Or vice versa : — ‘^That loathsome 
spiritual mass of pestilent meanness and depravity has a remark- 
ably handsome man,” instead of That remarkably handsome 
man’s soul is, etc., etc.” But I am slipping away from Joey 
Thorpe. Perhaps in what I have written I have scarcely done 
justice to his abilities. I ought to note that even before he went 
to the Dniversity he had already achieved a certain amount of 
publication, and was predicted great things of by a small circle of 
admirers. His father could not help being proud of the boy’s 
cleverness, superficial and flippant as both he and I thought it. 
His brother Nolly had not shown any very marked tastes, except 


JOSEPH VANCE 


159 


for Athletics, and as long as he could make record jumps and row 
in eights and bat in elevens, he asked nothing better. He ac- 
cepted his destiny tranquilly, and went into the Law because the 
way was paved for him. He would gladly have stopped out of the 
Law and everything else if left to himself and the cultivation of 
his biceps. But the Law, in the shape of Aldridge, Spencer, 
Spencer & Aldridge^s office, gaped for him and a monetary ac- 
companiment, and at the end of a few years he was able to reserve 
his opinion almost as well as Mr. Spencer himself. It is very 
funny to think of him now. For though I have not seen him for 
twenty years, I hear things; and among others I have heard that 
Mr. Oliver Thorpe — (Spencer, Aldridge, Thorpe & Flowerdew) — 
has a residence in Surrey called The Magnolias, and that he comes 
still to Charing Cross Station, every other day, and has a cab 
to his clerk^s-nest in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and always gives 
eighteenpence, or even two shillings if he hasn’t a sixpence, to the 
cabman — who, to tell you the truth, was my informant on all these 
points. He was an observant man, who was just going to take 
back to its owner a card-case he had found in his cab, which at 
first he had thought was mine — an incident which had led to 
conversation, and to a joint inspection of the contents of the card- 
case, actually Nolly Thorpe’s! I suspect that cabman retailed to 
him his interview with (very probably) an Old Cock who looked 
surprised. — Nolly would have looked so too, had he known what 
Old Cock. 

It is strange to think of ! But it is stranger still to me to think 
as I sit here and choke in the fog, and decline Betsy Austin’s 
proposal to bring lights, because then she may see tears in my 
face that are not due to fog alone, but to a thought of the joy it 
would have been to me to see dear old Nolly’s face again, and hold 
his hand — it is stranger still to think that even now, at this very 
moment, there is living in a Villa at the foot of Fiesole Hill — 
about five minutes’ walk along the road that goes a destra just 
before you get to the big church at San Domenico — an old English 
lady who went to live there twenty years ago, and who was Lossie. 
— I know all about the place although I shall never see her again, 
nor she me. But as I look at the white wafer behind the curling 
fog-reek that I know is the sun in the country, I think of the sole 
di marzo blazing on the roses in that Tuscan heat-trap; of the 
rifted trunks and dark leaves and light leaves of the olives ; of the 
mighty deliberation of the great white oxen that no man can make 
to go quicker or stop; of the scraps of song that all end in one 
cadence, and make one feel how very much one reaUy is in Tus- 


160 JOSEPH VAHCE 

cany. And then I wonder if this old English lady ever thinks 
of me. 

Looked at from the point of view of common sense (whatever 
that means) it is clearly better that she should not. What has 
she to gain by it? Nothing but pain and discomfort. For one 
thing I have made up my mind to — that she shall never know the 
truth. Much better for her to forget my existence altogether. 
Probably she does, for when you come to think of it, what a long 
long time it isl 


CHAPTER XIX 


HOW DR. THORPE TISITED JOE AT OXFORD, AND HOW THAT VISIT ENDED 
THE FIRST MOVEMENT OF JOE’s LIFE ON A DISCORD. OF HIS PAINFUL 
DOUBLE IDENTITY. 

In the autumn of 1860 I was a young man reading at Oxford, 
whose friends were kind enough to expect him to do great things. 
He felt the burden of his responsibilities severely, and that he was 
bound, under penalties, to triumph in a contest in which an 
untimely attack of summer-complaint might render useless 
the scholarship of Erasmus and the mathematics of Newton 
and Leibnitz combined. 

I do not mean that my friends were exceptionally ill- judging; 
indeed, I think they did their best. But they were bad actors. 
Perhaps as safe a line to go on as any was the one adopted by my 
Father. ^‘You^ll bring me ’ome your wooden spoon, Joe, when 
youVe got it,” he used to say. For he was not very clear about 
the curricula of Oxford and Cambridge, and confused the one 
with the other. This was better than expressing overweening 
confidence with a slightest possible sense of gasp in the back- 
ground. But better even than this would have been the attitude 
of Porky Owls, who would have expressed doubts of the ability 
of the University to examine, and certainty of my inability to 
pass creditably, in the same breath. He would have enquired who 
the Senate was, ridin’ the igh ’orse and givin’ themselves airs; dis- 
paraged reading as a means of acquiring information, and prob- 
ably condemned knowledge itself as a useless and artificial luxury 
of stuck-uppers. He lived in a bracing atmosphere and rejoiced 
in its entire freedom from Rot. 

I suppose it was the Boats, on one morning of this particular 
autumn of 1860, that made me think of Porky, in his capacity of 
British Seaman, as I took some early sculling exercise to qualify 
me for a good day of undisturbed reading. I sculled upstream as 
far as Godstowe lock, and wondered what Porky looked like now, 
with open collar-bones and a richly bronzed skin, perhaps rowing 
at this moment in quite another style, forcing some huge yawl a 

161 


162 


JOSEPH VANCE 


few inches ut a time against a head wind and tide, every move- 
ment seeming more loss than gain, till the mere landsman decides 
in his land-mind that they never can and never will make some 
point they are striving for. And decides all wrong of course, 
because shortly for some mysterious reason only perceived by a 
sea-mind, behold the end attained and the boat gliding easily 
along in oily waters, and never a thole-pin broken under the 
mighty strain! 

How easily 1 went slipping up the stream! It was a glorious 
cloudless morning at the end of August, and thinking of the tough 
work of the imaginary boat I had placed Porky in made my own 
slight work seem slighter. And just below the lock, as I allowed 
him and his crew to get into smoother water, there came up behind 
me the musical rhythm of eight oars going downstream apace, 
whereof the stroke called out to me firstly was that Vance of 
Ealliol? — which it was, and secondly that Dr. Thorpe was up, hav- 
ing come by the late train last night, and something more quite 
inaudible. For strokes of eights pass quickly out of hearing, and 
even at the best, when working hard, are not in good shouting 
form. So I had to be content with that much information, that 
Dr. Thorpe was in Oxford, and had come unexpectedly by the 
late train last night. And what became of the imaginary crew 
of Porky Owls’s boat I do not know, for my mind set out at once 
to seek for a reason why the Doctor should come quite suddenly 
to Oxford in this abnormal way, without so much as a word of 
warning. It was certainly odd! I turned down the stream, and 
pretended I wasn’t a little uneasy. 

I don’t believe any one has had so happy a life but what there 
have been in it well-marked moments at which he would not 
sooner have stopped abruptly than go on. Had I my life to live 
again I would soonest, being free to choose, go no further than 
the moment when I arrived, a new boy, at the school at Helstaple. 
If I could not avoid that new experience, and were obliged to go 
through with it, and then face my Mother’s death, I would put 
up an express petition to Destiny that I might get no further than 
the moment when I was happily dreaming, in the shade of the 
alders and willows, on the difference between sea and river rowing, 
and wondering what had become of my old friend Porky Owls. 
This is why I have been at some pains to describe that moment, 
which otherwise has no bearing whatever on my story. 

Mr. Possum’s man at the boathouse remarked that I hadn’t been 
long agone this morning, which was true. I held to my pretence 
that I was not anxious, to the extent of walking slower than I 


JOSEPH VANCE 


163 


wanted to at first, but I forgot to keep it up, before I had got half-* 
way through J ericho, and broke into a brisk wallc. I was glad when 
1 saw the Doctor, close by the Martyr’s Memorial, in the shade for 
the sun was hot, evidently waiting for me. Before I saw his face 
clearly, I saw it had an anxiety on it. But oh no ! — ^noth^ 
ing was the matter! I took his word for it, and pretended I was 
satisfied. But we were not quite like our two selves when all 
things were at their rightest. 

“ Oh no I ” said he again. “ Nothing’s the matter. I came over 
to look at a cranium. I’m writing a paper on the Missing Link — 
and I couldn’t feel satisfied unless I saw this skull myself. It’s 
only a few hours, after all! Besides, I always like a visit to 
Oxford. Only I wish to goodness they would leave the Colleges 
alone — they’ll soon all be as clean and smooth as creamlaid note. 
Why shouldn’t they peel if they like? They aren’t infectious 
when they peel, like scarlet-fever patients — why not let two inches 
of stone come off a three-foot thick wall ? ” 

“ Isn’t there some notion that the front surface coming off lets 
the water in ? How’s Lossie ? ” 

^^Lossie’s very well. — If they think that, I can tell them as a 
geologist, that they are what your Father would call etcetera 
fools — we understand, eh, Joe? Because the absorbent stone 
comes away and leaves the hard non-absorbent. That’s why they 
have been in statu quo such a long time. Don’t you see, Joe? 
It isn’t as if the decay could go on, on, on, through the block ” 

I saw and acquiesced. But keenly as I should have discussed 
the subject another time, I felt it could wait, and indeed suspected 
it was being made the most of for some strategic purpose ; and this 
wasn’t like the Doctor. I felt that he had not been quite natural 
when I asked after Lossie. “Very well” was very well as far as 
it went — but it ought to have been much more. I asked how were 
Vi and Nolly and Joe? And, for that matter. Aunt Izzy? 

“ Deafer than ever ! ” said Dr. Thorpe. “ Of course one doesn’t 
wonder when she hears a dog is a Dalmatian, and thinks the 
speaker is swearing. Nor when Vi says she has been shopping 
and she says, ‘ But who was it said so, dear ? I’m sure I never 
thought you shocking ’ In these cases the missing link is ob- 

vious! But when it comes to her being shouted to that Canon 
Pennefather is in the drawing-room, and she goes downstairs and 
deliberately enquires after Mrs. Cox, it gets impossible — how on 
earth Mrs. Cox crept in we never could make out ! ” 

“How’s Vi going on with the Bart?” 

^ Oh — ah ! — the Bart — yes, that’s the one she has on at present. 


164 


JOSEPH VANCE 


She may become Lady Towerstairs, or she may not I I never 
epeculate now about Vi.” 

He became distrait for a moment, then said, She’s six-and- 
twenty, you know — going for seven-and-twenty.” And I thought 
he was going to say something about Lossie, but he became absent 
and thoughtful again. We had arrived at my rooms, and the 
navigation of a rather dark stairway supplied a satisfactory reason 
for silence. 

The Doctor had not breakfasted, but did not seem to take very 
cordially to doing so. He became much interested in the backs 
of my books. 

Kegiomontanug, Nicholas of Cusa, Tredgold on the Steam- 
engine! That’s a sudden jump, Joe! — What do want with Tred- 
gold on the Steam Engine? He’s more in the line of that poor 
gobblestick — what’s his name — Thistlethwayte.” This was an 
enthusiast who had invented a perpetual motion, and wanted the 
Doctor to get the Royal Society to grant him two thousand pounds 
to construct a wheel which was to rotate forever on its axis in a 
vacuum. The Doctor continued: “Do you know, that poor chap 
is still at it! He came to me only a few days ago, with his 
machine rotating on its axis in his poor vacuum of a brain, and I 
was obliged to lend him a few shillings to keep him from starva- 
tion. Don’t you go doing the same, Joe. Leave the inventions 
alone. They’re the Deuce’s own delight! Once you begin, it’s 
like dram-drinking or Monte Carlo ” 

The effect of the introduction of vital interests was wholesome 
and I was glad of the new departure, although I had to confess up 
in respect of irregularities in reading. “ Anyhow, Doctor,’^ said I, 
“you’ll admit that if poor Thistlethwayte had begun by reading 
Tredgold as carefully as I’ve done, he wouldn’t have invented the 
Universal Lubricant.” 

“Well — he might have invented his Universal Lubricant with- 
out reading Tredgold, and yet known that he couldn’t abolish fric' 
tion. His Lubricant is very greasy, no doubt, but he has no 
notion how little friction it takes to stop a wheel in a billion of 
years ” 

“Hasn’t his Lubricant a commercial value? — mean without 
considering the Perpetual Motion idea ? ” 

“I have no doubt it has. But he won’t patent it, because that 
involves publication, and wicked capitalists will cut in and use 
it for Perpetual Motions before he can, and take the bread out of 
his mouth and his children’s — nine children he has, Joe, and 
another coming 1 ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


165 


I hoped the anxiety on the Doctor’s face was, after all, about 
this chap. Only it seemed so out of proportion. However, he 
was clearly an element of disquiet. 

‘‘ I’ve done the best I can,” continued Dr. Thorpe ; “ I’ve told 
him that if a leaden peg-top as big as the sun started in vacuo at 

a billion revolutions per second ” 

It would want a very carefully tempered steel peg, and a good 
hard piece of ground to stand on,” said I. 

“Well — ^yes — it would! Anyhow, I told Mr. Thistlethwayte it 
must slow down in the course of a few billions of billions of years, 
because even if he lived to keep the peg lubricated there would be 
some friction.” 

“ What did he say ? ” 

“ That he had ventured to hope I should talk seriously ! And 
he seemed so hurt, that I offered to pay his Patent fees if he would 
publish. But he declined. I think he suspected me of wanting to 
take advantage of him! So just you be warned by him, Joe, and 
don’t be an Inventor ” 

“It’s only a Spherical Engine with a new reciprocating move- 
ment, and I’m not going to think about it seriously till I’ve 
passed. How’s Joey?” 

“Oh — Joey’s very well — very well!” And I was sorry that in 
my anxiety to leave the subject of my inventive propensity — about 
which, in truth, I felt very guilty — I had chanced back to a 
renewal of Dr. Thorpe’s anxious aspect, which I had hoped was 
going to vanish. He became again thoughtful, hesitating, de- 
pressed — seemed to be going to speak, and said nothing. At last 
he pulled himself together in a sort of recapitulative way, as one 
who reports progress and declares his next step in advance, and 
said well now it was time for him to be off! He would go to see 
the cranium, and there were one or two people he wanted to speak 
to, and he would be back about lunch-time. Even then he did not 
go without a recurrence of the hesitating manner, but it came to 
nothing and he started off to look at the cranium. I watched him 
along the street and saw him stop once or twice, and stand rub- 
bing his chin thoughtfully. I went back to Pindar, who was the 
classic I was engaged in assimilating at that time. But I was 
puzzled and uneasy, and Pindar disagreed with me — especially 
when I reflected that the Doctor had hardly said a word about 
Lossie in all our conversation, of which of course the above only 
contains the salient points. 

He came back as he had said, and after eating very little lunch, 
walked out with me in the grounds. I cannot remember exactly 


166 


JOSEPH VANCE 


how it came in, but he used the expression ‘^this new engage- 
ment,” and I, understanding that he was speal?:ing about Vi’s 
last, made some absent-minded comment, asked about the 
Towerstairs family, or something of that sort — I really forget 
what. 

My dear boy,” said he. “ You don’t understand. I was 
not speaking about Vi’s engagement — I was speaking of Los- 
sie’s.” 

Sometimes the mind opposes automatically the receipt of fatal 
news, from some anticipative instinct, without its owner at all 
knowing why it rejects it. I found myself quite unable to attach 
any meaning to the Doctor’s words. 

“ I was speaking of Lossie’s engagement — she has got herself 
engaged to be married.” 

^‘Is Lossie engaged to be married?” I heard myself speaking 
quite calmly to the Doctor. He put his arm in mine — 

was not sure she had not written to tell you,” said he, half 
interrogatively. But I felt that he was saying something to gain 
a minute, or to gain a foothold, or to find something on which to 
hinge what we should say next. I did not look at him, but I 
knew that his eyes — so like Lossie’s! — turned round to me at in- 
tervals; and we walked on, the triith of the position working 
slowly into my mind. Concurrently, I became aware that he did 
see, and had seen, more clearly than I even now began to see, the 
bearing of the news he had to tell on my own life and its future. I 
should have been well pleased to be able to say to him in the in- 
terval of comparative calm in which I awaited the full truth, 
which I knew was coming, how I lovdd his kind heart for its 
love and fears for me. Both of which, strange to say, I felt to 
know much better than their agitating cause. But I said nothing, 
and we walked on in silence. 

Some tacit compact between us made the silence a long one, 
but in the end it was I who spoke — I was not in love with the 
sound of my own voice when it came. 

If Lossie has given her word she will keep it. But I have had 
no letter yet. — What is his name? I mean what is the name of 
the ” 

Man ? It is General Desprez. He is a very distinguished 
soldier — you know the name ? ” 

Of course.” 

‘‘ She went to stay for a week at the Vandeleurs’. He was there, 
and at the end of the week he made her an offer and she accepted 
him. — I know I It was very sudden ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


167 


^‘Yes — that is what I was going to say.” 

‘‘Very sudden, indeed. But with Lossie, very sudden means 
rery serious. — She isn’t Vi ” 

“ You have seen him? ” 

“ He came up with her from the Vandeleurs’ on Saturday and 
they came direct to me. Of course formally, with his rigid ideas 
of duty, his position was that he had asked Lossie’s leave to speak 
to me — people go through these farces, but they are all gam- 
mon ! ” 

He stopped to take snuff — then put his arm again in mine. 

“ Yes,” he went on, “ they are all gammon. Of course the whole 
thing was settled past any possible unsettling. Two more un- 
demonstrative lovers I never saw, in public, but nevertheless no 
one could be five minutes in the room with them and not see all 

about it ” I had interjected a direct enquiry whether Dr. 

Thorpe liked him, and he finished his sentence and then replied, 
“ I have no fault to find with him, and I know I shall like him in 
time, but — Good-morning ! ” 

He stopped short, and we got through a brief interview with a 
casual sub-librarian, who I am sure never suspected that anything 
was going wrong with either of us. Then he continued: “Yes — 
Joe — I know I shall like him in time. But Lossie is Lossie.” 

Yes — that was what was wrong. Lossie was Lossie — • 

“I suppose Fathers are naturally a selfish class, but it can’t be 
helped! Anthropoid Apes are selfish, I believe, and no doubt 
Fathers are descended from them. I shan’t find it at all easy to 
reconcile myself to Lossie going away to India, as she no doubt 
will.” 

I had not realized this contingency, but it seemed to make no 
difference in the calamity; at least in my share of it. — The thing 
was too new, and I was too stunned to discern in this indifference 
any light thrown on the nature of my affection for Lossie. I see 
it now. 

“ You can fancy, my dear boy,” continued the Doctor, “ how em- 
barrassingly mixed any Father’s feelings must be over a thing 
like this. Even if I could have been inclined to quarrel with a 
man Lossie loved, which is absurd, how could I find any fault 
with this one? A splendid soldier, a cultivated man, writer, 
traveller, what not? There was not even the vernacular ground 
of difficulty-mongering of the marriage-blocker, the money con- 
sideration; for he is next heir to Stoat’s-Leaze in Derbyshire and 
the present owner is eighty-two and in a madhouse — or something 
of the sort. Of course I know I ought to be rejoicing over the 


168 


JOSEPH VANCE 


splendid match. But, Lossie going away to India! IPs no use, 

Joe, Bathers cannot help being Fathers ” 

Nor brothers brothers,” said I. And then some question 
stirred in some obscure corner of my mind, and asked if this 
remark was really germane to the matter. And when Dr. Thorpe 
repeated after me, Nor brothers brothers, as you say, Joe dear,” 
it threatened to become more audible, and I was fain to silence it 
by an effort of will. 

We walked in and about the grounds and quads of the Colleges, 
stopping a good deal, I remember, in the quad of University, be- 
cause the Doctor liked the mouldering stone (it has been made 
quite neat and tidy many years ago now), before we turned back to 
my rooms. We talked over every aspect of Lossie’s engagement 
except the one uppermost in both our minds, and this we 
scrupulously avoided. Each of us knew the otheFs thoughts, but 
neither communicated his own — unless indeed a lengthened-out 
grasp of the hand in silence when we parted at the Bailway 
Station could count as a communication. I persuaded the Doctor 
not to stop on; or rather I should say my way of asking him to 
stay was unconvincing, and he decided to hold by his statement 
that he must be back at Poplar Villa by nine o’clock. His judg- 
ment that this was best for my sake was perfectly right. The 
light feverish attack that followed would have b^n ten times 
worse if he had stayed. 

After I had taken leave of him I went away for a long walk 
towards Witney, but did not go so far, although I had a vague 
intention of doing so. I turned back at Eynsham and got back to 
College long after feeding-time. But I did not want anything to 
eat — I wanted to find out what had happened — to be able to 
visualize or localize the event — to make the simple fact I baH just 
heard, that a young lady I knew was going to make a most 
fortunate marriage, take its place quietly among other facts, and 
settle down for me to deal calmly with it. It was a most reason- 
able thing in itself. Why should it roar and throb in my brain, 
and make my eyes and my palate dry up ? 1 was there, all right 
enough ! It had not hurt me. I was looking on perfectly calmly 
at a brain that persisted in throbbing, and at something that was 
swelling in the throat of an unreasonable young man — unreason- 
able in being so strangely affected by something 1 had just heard — 
something which, if he had had a spark of real good feeling or 
common sense, he would at once have seen he ought to rejoice at. 
I was angry with him for his selfishness, but I was so concerned 
for his burning palate that I got him some brandy and soda, the 


JOSEPH YANCE 


169 


only thing he could swallow. He drank it down and lit a pipe, 
and the effect was thus far good that he partly perceived his 
identity with myself. 

He and I then (to pursue my attempt to picture a frame of 
mind that was perfectly real, and can be explained in no other 
way) sat smoking in the half-dark, trying to get things into order. 
We needed no light, for the harvest moon was very large and 
very golden, and meant soon when it was well up to bathe Oxford 
town in silver. I tried to remonstrate with him, and pointed out 
his absurdity in expecting that Lossie Thorpe should always re- 
main as it were on draught, for his special behoof and satisfac- 
tion when he went up to town — “ Do you imagine,” I asked, “ that 
her father, her sister, or her brother ever contemplated that she 
would remain at home indefinitely for their sakes. And who are 
you, that you should claim what they do not? Or do you really 
mean, you presumptuous young ass, that your silly boyish aspira- 
tions lay claim to be considered Love — Love with a big L, that 
produces Marriage and Jealousy and Murder and all sorts of 
grown-up things that boys in their second year at Oxford have 
really no business with? If so, I must trouble you to remember 
that you are between nineteen and twenty, and Lossie Thorpe is a 
woman of twenty-four ” 

The other-self young man interrupted me, with more spirit 
than I had given him credit for : “ I cannot analyze what is meant 
by Love, nor can I say what it is in her father^s, brother’s, sister’s 
affection that differs from mine. I only know that when she goes 
out of my life, a Light disappears from it that will never return, 
and for which no substitute is possible. And I know there is no 
exit from my life for her so effectual as Marriage with another 
man. Death would separate us less.” 

You are a foolish young undergraduate,” I replied ; I shall go 
to bed and try to get a little sleep.” 

I did so, but I could not sleep a wink, or rather the other young 
man could not. Of course if he had not been me it would not 
have mattered ; but he persisted, and the fact that I was in perfect 
health, quite calm and collected, and not the least overworked, 
was allowed no weight whatever. He lay there staring into the 
darkness (for I had shut the moon out) and listening to the 
chiming of the hours, which seemed to follow each other too 
quickly, without the least affecting the total length of the night. 
His brain went on burning— his palate got drier. Consequently 
I got no sleep, and when a gleam of dawn and a sound of sparrows 
gave me an excuse for getting up, I was just on the point of doing 


1*70 


JOSEPH VANCE 


BO when this inconsequent young man’s system suddenly recog« 
nized the fact that it was worn out, and made me fall into a stupid 
sleep of unrecollectable dreams, which shortly became torpor, from 
which I woke slowly and painfully to find the world all alive, and 
the bell ringing for chapel. 

At first (of course) I could not tell what had happened — I only 
realized that there was an awful Something that would have to 
be recollected soon. It was useless attempting to preserve my 
torpidity to avoid it. It came, without remorse! And I knew 
that in this next year to come what had been music in the past ten 
years would be silence — what had been sunlight would be shadow. 
I had realized that, even if Lossie lived in England still, even if I 
could go to her as of old for sympathy in trouble and encourage- 
ment in work, it would not be the same thing. And in this fact 
lay the worst sting. She, I knew, would love me with just the 
same love she had given to the little boy that picked the pears; 
but I had made a dreadful discovery about the nature of things 
human, and the gruesome task before me was to conceal that dis- 
covery from Lossie. Her father knew it, and I knew he knew it, 
but I could see in a hundred ways how entirely unconscious she 
herself might be. If the slightest doubt about this could have 
crossed my mind, it must have been dissipated by the letter, de- 
layed in the post (or wrongly delivered at first), which I found on 
my breakfast plate when I at last appeared, presenting to my 
scout a haggard face, which I think he ascribed to a last night’s 
orgie : 


“ Poplar Villa, Aug. 14, 1860. 

My dear little Joe ; You will be so glad, I know, to hear of 
the great happiness that has come to me. I am engaged to be 
married to General Hugh Desprez. You know all about him from 
the newspapers. Don’t you remember how we read about the re- 
lief of Lucknow, two years ago, and you said of all the men you 
would Mike to be you would soonest be Colonel Desprez’? And 
he is that very same Colonel Desprez and he is as good as he is 
great and brave, and I am indeed a happy woman. I have told 
him all about you, dear Joe, and he is so anxious to know you— 
and you may fancy how I look forward to your knowing him. The 
only blot on the ’scutcheon is that I shall go to India and have to 
leave Papa behind and my two Joes— my little brother and my 
other little brother— and the others. But I shall go, and then 
when I come back I know I shall find a distinguished Oxford 
Graduate. How I shall look forward to getting the news when 


JOSEPH VANCE 171 

your year comes! I should like to write so much more, dear Joe, 
only I have so much to write. 

Good-bye, dear. Ever your affectionate, 

Lossie.” 

I turned it over and found on the other side written “Do you 
know you are quite the first written to of everybody — all but 
Sarry, and even her letter isn’t posted.” 

Others who know and understand women better than I do may 
be able to detect in this letter a consciousness of concealing the 
fear that the news would be unwelcome to me. I can see no sign 
of any feeling Lossie would not have had in writing to Joey or 
Nolly. Only that, had it been the latter, she might have been 
less affectionate. She and Nolly were not such chums as we had 
been, — she and I! — 

The great soldier and Lossie’s intense unconsciousness made me 
feel so keenly the presumption of the young man with the parched 
throat and the throbbing temples that I compelled him to eat 
some breakfast to show how capable he was of going through with 
the part that had been forced upon him. He showed pluck to the 
extent of a cup of coffee and half a roll — ^but I let him off any 
more, for really the food choked him. (I adhere to this young 
man as a figure of speech — ^because he makes explanation so 
easy.) He was very anxious that I, being perfectly cool and col- 
lected, should forthwith write a letter for him to Lossie, expressing 
his delight at the news, and carefully concealing every trace of 
the effect it had had upon him. He was in such a hurry for me 
to do this that he hardly had patience to wait till the breakfast 
things were cleared away. I got the letter written with some dif- 
ficulty, for he was not easy to satisfy, and after it was posted 
wandered aimlessly about, or rather, I should say, consented to 
his doing so. For I personally could see no reason why he should 
not go back to his rooms and get on with the Epinicia. By this I 
mean to express that I said to myself a hundred times that 
nothing had happened that ought to alter my life for this day, 
or for any day — that I ought to be able to get on with my read- 
ing — that although some acknowledged title or claim to misery 
would have been a great alleviation, I had none. Only the misery 
itself ! 

I had many nights of sleep that dreaded waking from fear of 
the return of the spectre that was always with me in the daytime; 
of sleeplessness that dreaded sleep as nothing but the road to a 
new recognition of the spectre, happily forgotten for a moment; 


172 


JOSEPH VANCE 


many days that it was easiest to spend out of doors, but haunted 
with a wish that every one else would keep in doors, and above all 
not speak to me when they met me; many such nights and days 
before Youth and Life reasserted themselves and laid claim to 
their rights in me. At their dictation a compromise was effected, 
and the black Shadow that oppressed me was bidden to disperse 
and scatter itself over the remainder of my earth-life, as a com- 
pensation for relinquishing its prey of the moment. My record 
was to become legible again, but on grey papyrus. 

Many things of great moment to myself, and some of interest 
to others, have been chronicled on it since then. But however 
black may be the blots that have fallen on its pages, however 
strongly they may start out from the ground on which they have 
fallen, it has never been white as of old, and I have never alto- 
gether lost the consciousness of the grey. 

I wonder, if at the request of Fate a dramatist took it in hand, 
and schemed to work in a white sheet or two before Finis, what he 
would find to write upon them ! 


CHAPTER XX 


LBTTBSS OF LOSSIE, VERY IMPORTANT. GENERAL DESPREZ. HOW SHB 
TOLD ABOUT JOE — HOW THE GENERAL WANTED TO MARRY LOSSIE — 
FULL DETAILS OF ALL HE SAID, BUT NO STAGE DIRECTIONS. HOW 
joe’s TRAGEDY BURST SUDDENLY ON LOSSIE, AND SHE ORDERED THE 
GENERAL TO THE RESCUE. 

It is fortunate that Lossie’s correspondence at this date was 
preserved, for it gives us what could not possibly have reached us 
in any other way. The following extract from a letter to Sarita 
Spencer (dated The Croft, Langport, Somerset, Aug. 6, 1859) is 
not absolutely necessary to the understanding of the next one, 
but it contains allusions to myself, and leads up to it, naturally; 
enough. 

. We are having a jolly time down here. I only wish you 
were here with us instead of in that stuffy London. The place is 
delicious, and what with riding in the morning, and being taken 
out for drives in the afternoon, and getting up extempore dances 
and theatrical performances in the evening, I can tell you the time 
passes at a great rate. I shall be so sorry for myself when I come 
back in a week. Lady Vandeleur says the remedy is easy — not to 
go back. I’m not sure it wouldn’t be kinder to London if I didn’t, 
for my temper will be unbearable! 

“The Vandeleurs are perfectly delightful people, who seem to 
take clover for granted, and accept good fortune as a birthright. 
That is to say, they do so in all matters of practical detail, never 
hesitating to order anything on the score of expense. But when 
it comes to general principles, they pose as usual people, who have 
just the same sort of income as the persons they happen to be talk- 
ing with at the moment. When one hears Rosalind (that’s Lady 
Vandeleur) talk of ‘really rich people like the Poltergeists’ one 
pities her and fears for her solvency, and it requires some little 
corrective like hearing her talk about ‘people with only a thou- 
sand a year ’ to make one feel cheerful about her. I talked about 
this way folks have to General Desprez, who is staying here (of 
course you know all about him), and he replied, ‘I know Lord 

173 


174 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Poltergeist intimately, and what you tell me Rosalind said comes 
very funnily, because it so happens that he said to me, less than a 
year ago, that people who had really no responsibilities, like Jack 
Vandeleur and that pretty wife of his, could fling their money 
about as they pleased, while as for him almost every penny of his 
huge income was bespoke, and only just enough left to give a 
chop to a friend who came to see him in the Albany ! I asked if 
it really was a chop, that time, for I conjectured these two old bach- 
elors were hob-nobbing at the said Albany when his Lordship (whose 
name I haven^t got quite riglit — but no matter) made his remark. 

“‘A sort of metaphorical chop,’ said the General. 

^‘‘Come now. General,’ said I, ‘don’t be evasive! Tell me 
honourably, because you know you recollect perfectly well what 
the metaphorical chop consisted of.’ 

“ ‘ Grouse and Chateau Lafitte. But, my dear Miss Thorpe, if 
you’ll take the word of a middle-aged soldier who has knocked 
about the world and seen a many sights, all these things are rela- 
tive. The Chinaman who sleeps where he stands, works eighteen 
hours a day, and lives on a spoonful of rice, would consider the 
Italian bracciante rich on six lire a week: the Italian in his turn 
would consider the British workman, with six and eightpence for 
his ten hours’ day, a regular millionaire. Of course Rosalind 
Vandeleur thinks Poltergeist rich, because he has eighty thousand 
a year and she has a miserable twelve or flfteen. I have heard 
her speak of eight hundred a year as poverty in the presence of 
young couples living on three-flfty. And what is funny is that 
they have considered themselves bound to sympathize ! ’ 

“ ‘ Because they were such Humbugs,’ said I. 

“ ‘ God bless me, my dear,’ said he, quite paternally, ‘ you don’t 
mean that they ought to have taken up their parables (never knew 
what that meant!) and preached a crusade against the purse- 
proud. Besides Rosalind would have broken her heart if she had 
known — of course she thought these nicely dressed three-flfty folk 
were a sort of comfortable customary thousanders. According to 
her Sociology, you know, people have a thousand a year by nature, 
less by accident, and more by expectations which fructify.’ 

“ ‘ My father,’ said I, ‘ has seven hundred a year and what he 
makes by writing scientific articles for journals. But I’m quite 
sure he spends two hundred at least in all sorts of benefactions 
outside his family. Whatever would have become of my brother 
Joey Vance, but for papa, I can’t imagine.’ 

“ ‘ WTiat an unaccountable girl you are ! ’ for the General and 1, 
let me tell you, are on very free and easy terms — a sort of con- 


JOSEPH VANCE 175 

siderate assurance he has does it. ^ How on earth can you have a 
brother named Joey Vance when you’re Lucilla Thorpe?’ 

‘ I mean to have as many brothers as I please, with all sorts 
of names.’ 

“ ‘ You mean I’m inquisitive. So I am ! ’ 

“ ‘ Then I’ll tell you. Joey Vance is a young man I take a great 
interest in. He’s at Balliol, and is expected to set the Thames 
©n fire one of these days.’ 

^ Which of these days ? ’ 

^ What a lot of questions you are asking. General ! Are you 
fond of peacocks ? ’ 

^^^Very. But I want to know about Joey Vance.’ 

^ ^ Let’s walk round the rose garden before we go in. I like 
strong tea — it won’t be too strong for me.’ 

“ ‘ Well — I suppose I must risk my nervous system. However, 
if I do, you must tell me all about Joey Vance.’ 

You know I am always ready enough to talk about Joey — and 
when in addition to that one is catechized by a great handsome 
Hercules of a man with a thoughtful face — well, what else could 
I do? — of course I told him all about Joe’s first appearance, and 
subsequent career — and how we expected him to take a very high 
degree. He dropped his half-jesting tone and spoke seriously. 

“ ^ How old was the boy when your father made him read 
Euclid?’ 

‘ Only eight. Wasn’t it lucky Papa finding him out?’ 

‘ Indeed it was ! And how long ago was that ? ’ 

“ ^ Well — Joe’s between nineteen and twenty — so you can do the 
sum! I was between fourteen and fifteen and now I’m twenty- 
five, nearly. I’ve no objection to your knowing my age.’ 

“ ‘ Are you really as much as that ? ’ said he. ‘ I never should 
have thought it. Guess how old I am ’ 

I told him I had been told that already — so it wouldn’t be fair 
to guess. . . .” 

Sarita Spencer ought to have torn up the following letter. Per- 
haps she would have done so had she lived. As it is, it has com© 
into my hands — and may take its chance of being read by you. 

The Croft, Langport, Somerset, Aug. 9, 1859. 
dearest Sarry: I am feeling dreadfully embarrassed, so 
far as a girl whose head is going round can be said to feel any- 
thing. Especially when she is pretending that her head isn’t going 


176 


JOSEPH VANCE 


round. I hope iPs all right, and that I’m awake ! I shouldn’t like 
to wake up and find it wasn’t true. Even if I’m asleep I suppose 
I must keep my promise to you in the dream that I made to you 
awake years ago, and that I’ve been meaning to keep ever since, 
as soon as there was an opening. For you see, dear, the fact is 
I’ve had an offer of marriage, and I’m bound under the terms of 
the compact to tell you EXACTLY what the gentleman said and 
did — No! stop a minute! It was no such thing — I only promised 
to tell what he said — and I’ll throw you in what I said. I can’t 
tell you how much easier that makes it — I can fulfil that promise 
honestly. 

“First of all. I’ll tell you his name. It’s not in the contract, 
but I’ll be liberal and throw it in too. He’s General Desprez, and 
he’s the General Desprez. He’s a first cousin of Rosalind Van- 
deleur. All these people are each other’s cousins, or connections 
by marriage. If I marry him I shall be well connected and all my 
friends will cut me. I shall be, according to Professor Absalom, 
a silver-spoon person, and quite unfit for human company. 

“I’ll make a small further concession and tell you where the 
affair came off — ihat^s not in the contract either ! It was in a little 
square-walled garden called the Rose Garden, and there are peaches 
and nectarines on the very high walls, and he and I were walking 
round and keeping off the grass because of the dew — at least I was. 
There was no one else there except a peacock. Now do admit that 
I’m liberal! I wasn’t the least bound to tell you about the pea- 
cock! Here is the whole of the conversation, from the moment 
we met — 

“‘You’re early this morning, Generali’ 

“ ‘ Am I ? I suppose it’s seven o’clock,’ 

“‘It isn’t even that, if the negro hasn’t turned round in the 
night when no one was looking, like the two S’s in Skinner Street. 
Ry-the-bye, General, why is it that one associates negroes with 
sundials ? ’ 

“‘I don’t think I know any but this one. He’s made of lead. 
But tell me about the two S’s in Skinner Street.’ 

“ ‘ It’s some nonsense of Papa’s. Somebody asked him what his 
Doctor’s degree was, and why he was called Doctor. He said he 
didn’t know, because he had two degrees — one a German, the other 
Oxford. He said for anything he could do to regulate it, it might 
be they changed across every other day, like the two initials in 
Skinner Street — which a policeman whose mind was affected com- 
plained at headquarters about.’ 


JOSEPH VANCE 177 

‘ I suppose iPs the word German put it into my head. Why 
didn’t your sister marry the young German ? ’ 

‘ Poor Hermann ! It’s a pity she didn’t — I liked him much 
better than — ^the man she’s engaged to now.’* 

‘ Whose name you told me and I’ve forgotten it.’ 

^ Sir Richard Towerstairs. She has been engaged four or five 
times, but I really believe she’ll marry this one.’ 

‘‘‘Does she love him?’ 

“ ‘ Oh dear, yes ! But she loved all the others, one down t’other 
come on ! ’ 

“‘You frivolous young woman! Can’t you be serious on a 
serious subject ? On the serious subject ? ’ 

“‘Yes. But not about Vi’s engagements.’ 

“‘It was serious enough with poor Hermann. Wasn’t he very 
miserable when your unfeeling sister — ^jilted him?’ 

“ ‘ You were going to say chucked him, and of course it would 
have been vulgar. But there’s nobody here but the peacock. Oh 
no! Hermann wasn’t hurt. I was taken in at first and tried to 
console him, but ^ 

“‘But what?’ 

“‘Well, he took so very kindly to being consoled that I was 
obliged to 

“ ‘ I understand. Poor Hermann ! And then I suppose when 
there was no third sister to apply for he went to look for some- 
body else.’ 

“ ‘ I gave him an introduction to a girl named Atkins. Aren’t 
people queer? However, it was good for me, because Hermann 
had given me some most lovely embroidered pocket-handkerchiefs, 
and instead of giving them back I kept them as a commission on 
Sylvia Atkins. I told him I should.’ 

“‘Perfectly fair! But I want to know why you think your 
sister will marry this one.’ 

“ ‘ I hardly like to tell you, but it’s difficult not to teU when you 
look so earnest about it. Because he’s a Baronet.’ 

“ ‘ Is it possible that that should be really so ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes. And I can tell you why. Vi is absolutely incapable 
of caring more about any one person (man or woman) than another. 
It isn’t that she cannot feel affection, but that it doesn’t much 
matter to her who she feels it for. The mere raw human creature 
supplies no distinctive attraction. It needs some external attribute 
which is not itself. — ^If she had been Hero she would not have 
, welcomed Leander. He was altogether too crude and uncooked. 


178 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Now if he had come with a coronet, or a cheque-book, or a mitre, 
or a pedigree, it would have been another thing.’ 

‘ But the German Leander swam ashore with a cheque- 
book.’ 

“ ‘ He did — but then the moment they quarrelled there was no 
tie left but the cheque-book, and Vi could distinguish that merce- 
nary motives were low. It froisse’d her self-respect. But with this 
man, if she quarrels with him about any of the things he knows 
enough about to feed a quarrel on — ^horseflesh, cigars, cards, wine — 
there will always be the great and glorious sheet-anchor of his 
ancient lineage to keep her steady. She will never despise herself 
for reverence of ancestry.’ 

‘‘ ^ This Leander swims ashore with a pedigree. But do you 
thinlv you will like your brother-in-law?’ 

“ ‘ I don’t think about it. I am perfectly certain I shan’t. 
Really when his formal welcome into the family was going on, and 
he considered it his duty to call me Lucilla and inflict a ’ 

*^^KissV 

‘ Eamily peck upon me I felt I could have sunk into the earth. 
I should like to go and live abroad to be out of his way, only I 
should have to leave Papa and my two Joes.’ 

‘ I wish I could persuade you to go to India.’ 

‘ Are you in such a hurry to get rid of me ? Besides, what 
should I do out there — go as a nurse ? ’ 

‘ No. My idea was that you should go out as a General Offi- 
cer’s wife. I know of a Vacancy.’ 

^ How do you know the General Officer would like it ? Why 
do you look so ? — is anything the matter ? ’ 

‘‘‘Yes — plenty’s the matter! Now do let’s walk quietly round 
the garden, like this, and I’ll explain. You see, I suspect you of 
being absolutely the dearest woman in the whole world, and I 
know I myself never saw another like you. Now you under- 
stand! No — don’t run away. You see I am the General Officer 
and I want you to marry me and come to India.’ 

“‘Oh, how stupid I was! I always thought it was a General 
Officer, like a general servant. I never realized that you were a 
General Officer. I thought of you only as a General or Major- 
General. Indeed I did! And do you really expect me to say yes 
or no to a question like that offhand, before breakfast ? ’ 

“ ‘ If it’s more likely to be yes by waiting till after breakfast, 
let’s have breakfast first.’ 

“ ‘ Are you sure you really care which I say — yes or no ? Oh, do 
take care, I’m sure there’s somebody coming ! ’ 


JOSEPH VANCE 179 

only the gardener — he’s going the other way. It’s all 

right.’ 

‘ No, indeed, he’s coming this way — do let’s be a lady and 
gentleman taking an early walk before breakfast.’ 

Now, Sarry darling, I’ve kept my promise, and more. For I’ve 
not only told you what he said, but what I said, and how the whole 
thing worked. You can write in the stage directions to the above 
little drama much as you please. The action of the Dramatis 
Persona3 is nearly always the same. 

“ I don’t exactly know when I accepted this soldier of mine, nor 
precisely whether I ever did accept him at all. We fell into rank 
somehow as two people entitled to paeans of congratulation; all the 
women (married and single) saying they wanted him for them- 
selves, but if any one else is to have him they are so glad it’s 
Rosalind Vandeleur says she really believes all the girls did want 
him, only that he was always so reserved and cautious that he won’t 
leave a single broken heart behind him. I said I shouldn’t have 
thought him so particularly reserved and cautious — and she said 
well perhaps not — it all depended on circumstances. 

He says, however, we are not engaged — oh dear, no ! — till Papa, 
etc. Of course not, but as if I didn’t know Papa! However, we 
are going up on Saturday to present ourselves at headquarters. 
I hope you see how military my language is becoming. . . . 

“ My dear, I should like to tell you how happy I am — but I can’t 
find the words. Oh, the delight of waking in the morning and 
knowing half awake that as soon as one can recollect what it is 
there will be something indescribably glorious. . . 

“ Aug. 16, Poplar Villa. 

I will go on with my story where I left ofi. 

Hugh and I came up on the Saturday, as I said we should, 
after four more most delightful days at Crofts, which I shall never 
forget as long as I live. I can’t tell you how sweet Rosalind and 
her husband and all of them were. It was a sky without a cloud, 
and Hugh was the sun in it. That’s a very bad simile, but I 
always get in a mess when I try to be poetical! But it’s right 
enough on one point — as to the chill one feels when a cloud takes 
the edge off one’s enjoyment of it. You know what it’s like, and 

how one says it isn’t going to rain, or only a few drops ! Well, 

we came back from Crofts — and all went well — more than well! 
Papa was, I need hardly say, a darling — came out to the door to 
meet us; and never taking the slightest notice of poor me, all but 


180 


JOSEPH VANCE 


embraced the General in the heartiness of his welcome. It can’t 
have been difficult, for it’s simply impossible to see Hugh and not 
love him. Rosalind says so — everybody says so. By-the-bye — I 
don’t think I have ever mentioned that he’s the youngest General 
in Her Majesty’s service. Of course it doesn’t matter, but one has 
an idea (or I had) that Generals are all elderly. 

^‘^Now where’s my undutiful daughter?’ said Papa. ‘Come 
and be blown up ! What do you mean by looking so blooming, eh ? 
I wonder who you’ll get engaged to be married to next without my 
consent ? ’ 

“ Poor Papa ! Evidently the iron of his paternal experiences of 
Violet had entered into his soul, and he thought he was going to go 
through it all again. It would have been mere hypocrisy not to 
recognize the bearing of the remark. 

“‘Violet began at sixteen,’ said I. ‘Never mind the snuffi — 
it’s only my travelling things. Besides, I’m not engaged without 
your consent; I’m not engaged at all, yet * 

“ ‘ No,’ said Hugh, indiscreetly, ‘ we’re not engaged at all yet ^ 

“‘Oh,’ said I, interrupting him, ^ you re not engaged, aren’t 
you? Very well — ^go away — I don’t want you. However, you may 
have some tea before you go, and soon as you’ve done over-paying 
the cab we’ll go in and get it. Where’s Beppino ? ’ 

“ ‘ Who’s he ? ’ said the General, and I explained that it was an 
extra name for my blood-relation Joey — made necessary by mis- 
understandings. ‘ Then,’ said he, ‘ who’s Beppe ? ’ 

“ ‘ Why, of course, dear Goose,’ said I, ‘ that’s an extra name 
for Joe Vance! Joe for one and Beppino for the other works 
best. Come along.’ 

“ So we all came along into the drawing-room, after I had re- 
ceived the benediction of Sam and Anne, and for that matter of 
the cabman, whom I heard from afar sharing his views with an 
acquaintance named Nosey, who had helped to bring in the lug- 
gage. These were to the effect that it was in the interest of drivers 
that fares should be nuts, the condition so described tending to 
produce liberality in an otherwise stingy public. I didn’t hear 
the exact words, but am sure of the substance. 

“ ‘ But where is Beppino ? ’ said I, as I grabbed my unforwarded 
letters. 

“‘Joey was here a minute ago,’ said Papa. 

“‘Master Joey was here when the cab rang,’ said Anne. ‘I’ll 
run and find him. Miss,’ and off went Anne. Some inner suscepti- 
bility of mine whispered that it would have been better pleased if 
Beppino had received us with acclamations at the gate, and went 


JOSEPH VANCE 


181 


the length of adding, ‘As Joe Vance would have done/ It was 
the first little chill I had had — ^however, I was perhaps unreason- 
able. As for Vi, I can’t swear that I didn’t feel a tiny scrap of 
relief on hearing that she was going to be in to tea, as I had had a 
misgiving that, if already in to tea, she would conspire with Aunt 
Izzy to give us a ceremonial reception. 

“ However, to condense my narrative, Joey was captured by 
Anne and made some effort at apology based on the great interest 
of the work he was reading. He was rather sheepish with Hugh, 
I thought, or perhaps was a little frightened of him. Vi came in 
as promised and accepted the peck (or rather pecks) of the new 
member of the family, with a very much better grace than I had 
i-eceived her young man’s with. But then just look at the differ- 
ence! As Vi herself said to me in my room that night, when we 
had a good talk over it, kissing Sir Dick is like kissing a tobacco 
shop in Piccadilly. As for Hugh, his appreciation of this part of 
the performance was candid, to say the least. I was obliged to 
tell him that comparisons were odious. 

“ Poor Aunt Izzy was all kindness, or intended to be so. The 
moral of the interview with her I should say was that you had 
better not talk Debrett to any one who can’t hear a word you say. 
I had warned Hugh that he would have to form square to receive 
the Peerage, so he knew what was coming. ‘ But why not let the 
dear old lady talk about it? ’ said he. ‘ You’ve no idea what pleas- 
ure it gives them I ’ I saw he had a false image of Aunt Izzy 
in his mind, and tried to correct it without injustice to Aunty. 
‘ You know,’ I said, ‘ poor Aunty isn’t exactly what one describes 
as a dear old lady. She’s very good, you know — as good as can 
be! But all the same she’s an Honorary Secretary, and has the 
weKare of her sex at heart — and indeed of everybody else’s sex 
too. But then, that is her Advanced Self which has Platforms 
and denounces all sorts of things, and behind it all is a Superior 
Self enshrined in its own extraction from the Thorpes of Thorpe, 
and cherishing memories of people almost too well-connected to 
live. She doesn’t talk much to her nieces about them. Indeed, 
I think she regards us as Eenegades, who from sheer innate Vul- 
garity of Soul selected a Member of the Middle Classes for a 
Mother. Mamma was a School-Mistress, you know, and Papa fell 
in love with her — she was very beautiful — you’ll see her portrait — 
at some lectures he gave on Education — fell over his Lecture table 
he always said.’ 

“You see, Sarry dear, I did my best to introduce the family, 
and prevent Hugh being taken aback. So I hope he wasn’t much 


182 


JOSEPH VANCE 


disgusted at having to shout into an ear-trumpet that he knew 
nothing personally about William the Conqueror, having only 
come to England since the He vocation of the Edict of Nantes, 
and that even his poor cousin Lord Fitzbroughton was only a 
direct descendant of a wool-broker in James the First’s time who 
was created because he lent His Majesty money. 

‘ Do put yourself a little further back, Hugh dear,’ said L 
‘ Just look at poor Aunty how shocked she is ! ’ 

“ However, the reason why Aunty looked shocked came out later 
when it became manifest that she had scarcely heard any of Hugh’s 
communications. For after passing the evening with an evident 
weight on her mind, she unburdened herself to me as we were light- 
ing bedroom candles, being I suppose afraid she might be sleepless 
without explanations. 

“ ‘ But, Aunty dear,’ said I, after mastering the point involved, 
‘Hugh never said he was any relation of Edith Sant’s.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Well, my dear, I certainly thought he said so, and I think if 
you ask him you’ll find I’m right.’ 

“ ‘ Hugh,’ said I, shouting across the room, ‘ what relation are 
you of Edith Sant’s?’ 

“‘Is it a conundrum?’ said he. ‘I don’t know, I give it up.’ 
And, indeed, we all gave it up, until by good luck we got a clue 
from the word conundrum, which Aunty’s ear perverted terribly. 

“ We were all talking about the Conqueror, dear, all the time. 
And I couldn’t imagine why Edith Sant! Because she certainly 
has nothing to do with the Conqueror. 

“ Perhaps, Sarry dear, as you’ve got it all wrote out quite plain 
on the last page, you’ll see what it all came from. But I assure 
you that even with the Conqueror clue we were a long time getting 
to the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Aunty was greatly 
relieved, because Edith Sant, though very nice of course, is not 
exactly! ‘As your sister Violet says, dear,’ said Aunty, ‘Edith 
Sant is not exactly.’ So I had the authority of both for this 
curious fact. 

“ Nolly came in five minutes before dinner in a dust-coat over 
cricketing flannels, having scored seventy-two and not out. The 
frame of mind generated by an incident of this sort is not favour- 
able to introduction of future brothers-in-law. In the present 
case Nolly’s inattention to the question before the House, which 
was absolute, became warm appreciation of its merits the moment 
it transpired, to my surprise, that the General was an historical 
amateur Wicket-Keeper. The distinguished services of Colonel 
Desprez during the Indian Mutiny, and before that in the Crimea, 


JOSEPH VANCE 


183 


did him no doubt great credit, but what are mere human dis- 
tinctions of this sort! Let him who aspires to true Eame keep 
wickets. I was glad of Nolly^s fervent appreciation of Hugh, al- 
though no sooner was the wicket-keeping revelation made than all 
conversation threatened to merge in dry wickets and wet wickets 
and soft wickets and hard wickets and flat wickets and even 
wickets. I was obliged to threaten to break it off in order to give 
any one else a chance. Nolly was promised another innings, and 
I believe had it later, after we women had carried off the bedroom 
candles and I was recapitulating with Violet in peace. She, I may 
mention, had vanished, by the time Nolly returned, to go to the 
Opera with her BaronePs married sister, and he was delivering 
her, like coals, out of a two-horse carriage and oppressive footmen 
just as I was thinking of getting to sleep. I called her into my 
room, and she came in and sat on the end of the bed in her things. 
Vi really does look lovely en grande tenue, twenty-seven or no! 

“ * I didn’t know, Lossie dear, that your new soldier-man knew 
Sir Richard.’ 

^‘‘Well, now, Vi! That’s a shame. You know perfectly well 
he’s the only man I ever set up for myself, and you call him my 
new soldier-man.’ 

* Oh ! ’ said Vi. ‘ But did you know he knew Sir Richard?’ 

‘ Then those men are smoking downstairs still ! ’ said I. And, 
Sarry dear, if you find this conversation inconsecutive, I can’t 
help it — I am only recording the words as they came. You see, 
Vi and I have conversed on these lines since childhood, and after 
all we are sisters. 

“ ^ Well, Lossie dear, if he doesn’t know Sir Richard what does 
he mean by saying to him, “ So you’re come to an anchor at last, 
Dick!”?’ 

‘ I don’t remember his ever saying he didn’t know him,’ said I. 
‘ And they all know each other, all this sort of people, and Chris- 
tian-name each other — I suppose they were at Etoii together. What 
did you mean by Oh ” ? ’ 

‘"'Mean? Nothing. What should I mean?’ And as I really 
could not think of anything she could have meant unless it was 
an allusion to Hermann when he came to me for consolation and 
found it not and was referred on to Sylvia Atkins, I don’t know. 
So I let it drop as we had plenty to talk about. 

^ Are you girls going to stop chattering and go to bed ? ’ called 
out Papa an hour after from the library, where he writes ever so 
late. And then as Vi opened the door and floated away, I caught 
the sounds of a Baronet and a General and a Oricketer dispersing, 


184 


JOSEPH VANCE 


and taking care to make no noise, on the floor below. You know 
what that sounds like? Then oblivion. And then I got up and 
wrote to Joe Vance at Balliol.’^ 

From same to same — dated Poplar Villa, Aug. 22, 1859. 

Dearest Sarey : I am quite heart-broken ! Oh, why is it that 
there never can be any happiness at all for any one, without some- 
thing to spoil it all? Why must there always be some gall at the 
bottom of the cup? I would have given worlds this should not 
have happened — I almost think that if I had foreseen it I should 
have run away from Hugh (that^s the General) that day in the 
Rose Garden at Crofts and never gone near him again. I should 
like to be as miserable as I am afraid I have made some one else — 
but Pve told you nothing! I must try to get in order. Pll begin 
at the beginning. 

‘‘I had such a nice cheerful letter from Joe in answer to mine 
telling him about the General, saying what fun it was, and fancy 
me engaged to be married ! The letter was full of all sorts of jokes, 
picturing me in my new character of married woman. He rallied 
the General on his courage, wondered whether he had any idea what 
a firm disciplinarian I was, how many cigars a day I should allow 
him, and would he be taken to church three times on Sunday, and 
so on. You never could have imagined to read such a letter that — 
well, now! I don’t know how to finish the sentence — I must just 
go on with my story and you must guess 

‘‘I was beginning at breakfast to moot the point of when Joe 
Vance would come to London, and Nolly was disparaging hard 
reading, and pointing out its bad effect on mind and muscle, when 
Papa suddenly remembered that there was a skull at some place in 
Oxford he would like to see, in connection with gorillas’ occiputs, 
and said if Hugh would undertake to keep me out of mischief he 
would run down and see the skull and Joe, and bring back word 
when he thought of coming to town. I told him Joe would come at 
once if I wrote for him, but there were such a lot of things to do 
I had left him to stand over for a week as I wanted to really see 
him when he did come. However, Papa seemed to prefer to go, 
and went away by the late train from Paddington. 

“The first glimmer I had of anything amiss was due to what 
was in itself a most reasonable action on Papa’s part. Nothing 
could be plainer and simpler than that he should run down to Ox- 
ford to see this skull, as he was actually writing on the subject at 
the time. But he laid so much stress on the advisability of seeing 


JOSEPH VANCE 


185 


it, when that advisability really went without saying, that his going 
set up a minute current of uneasiness in a corner of my mind, 
which, however, resolutely refused to acknowledge its existence. 
Nevertheless, it felt greatly relieved when Joe^s letter reached me 
on the second day after my Father’s return, although it had not the 
candour to admit the greatness of the relief. The letter had one 
defect, however, in my eyes — it did not say when Joe was coming 
to London. Perhaps this was only an accident. Joe was so sure 
to come soon that no doubt he thought unnecessary to fix any 
date. I thought it safe to forget about it and take his coming for 
granted. 

So when Hugh said to me, ‘ That’s a queer boy, Beppino ! 
But when am I to see your other little brother ? ’ I was rather 
glad to reply only to the first part of his speech, and neglect the 
last question. 

‘ Of course Beppino is a singular child. Papa and I think it 
better to leave him alone. He doesn’t understand above half of 
what he reads.’ I said this because I knew Hugh had caught him 
reading some curious literature. 

^ How do you know that ? It seems to me that he’s not exactly 
a child, even in years. And he strikes me as being at least five 
years older in faculties. But when am I to see Joe Vance?’ 

This time I was glad to answer the question, as it allowed me 
to pass over a consideration of another question which had often 
been a subject of serious and anxious discussion with Papa. 

‘ I thought he would have been here by now. As he hasn’t come, 
most likely next Saturday.’ 

^ Did he say anything in his letter ? ’ 

^ Well — ^you saw his letter.’ 

“ ‘ Only Dr. Thorpe didn’t speak as though he expected him to 
come up just yet.’ 

‘ As though he expected him to come up just yet ? ’ I repeated 
the words with something of a sudden alarm. ‘Why not? Is 
anything wrong?’ 

“‘Nothing whatever so far as I know. Joe’s all right.’ 

“‘Oh dear, yes, Joe’s all right — why shouldn’t he be? ’.struck 
in Papa, coming in at this moment. ‘ Who said anything was the 
matter with Joe?’ 

“ ‘ Nobody said anything was the matter with Joe,’ said I. ‘But 
you and Hugh speak in such a reassuring manner you gave me 
quite a turn.’ And you know, Sarry dear, it is very terrifying 
to be suddenly spoken to in a reassuring manner. ‘Do say now, 
honour bright, that when you left him at Oxford Joe was ^ 


186 


JOSEPH VANCE 


‘‘^Perfectly well? Of course he was really — ^honour bright? 
And hell come up very shortly. No! he didn’t name any day — 
but most likely Saturday or very shortly ’ 

“ Saturday came and has gone — and so, I think, has very shortly. 
Joe did not come up, or he would have been here on Sunday to a 
certainty. I was at the window every time I heard the gate swing 
to see if it wasn’t Joe. But it never was. And on Monday after- 
noon came a letter from him. Here it is — 

‘ My dear Lossie : I am afraid I cannot get up to London for 
a few days yet. I will do so as soon as I can, but I am so desperately 
behindhand with the programme I had sketched out for myself 
this long that I would rather (if I may) wait a few days before 
coming up. I wanted to have got through the Epinicia of Pindar 
before now, and really I am scarcely half-way. I am extremely 
well, and not ovemorking at all, and getting lots of sculling on 
the river. I will really come very soon. It doesn’t matter, does 
it, my putting off a little? I feel as if I ought to apologize to 
General Desprez for not coming at once to be introduced to him, 
but you will know how to excuse me and say something nice for 
me, won’t you ? 

‘ Always affectionately yours, 

‘‘^JOE.’ 

" Very little in that letter, you will say. But if you will believe 
me, when I came to ‘ I will really come very soon,’ I knew the whole 
truth without another word. 

‘^Hugh was with me when I got it, but did not know who it 
was from, as I crumpled the envelope. But I just heard him say, 
* Oh, my darling, what is it ? You’ve gone quite white,’ and 
everything swam. Then when I came to, I just threw myself on 
his acre or so of chest, and cried as if my heart would break. 

“ After I went to bed I listened for Vi to come home from see- 
ing Kobson at the Haymarket and called to her. I threw her 
the letter which I had under the pillow, and said, ‘ Was that what 
you meant by “Oh,” Vi?’ And she read it and answered, ‘Yes, 
dear, that was what I meant by “ Oh.” And what a simpleton 
you have been ! ’ But she wasn’t bad — she’s not bad in trouble, 
Vi isn’t — and she came and said what she could by way of con- 
solation.” 


From same to same. Extract from letter of Aug. 30, 1859. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


187 


. After turning it well over in my head I came to the 
conclusion that it would be better to send Hugh than to go my- 
self. The critical difficulty ahead was really getting him and Joe 
into comfortable relations, without which (I felt it necessary to 
explain) I should not only ^ jilt ’ or ‘ chuck ’ him, but should take 
Prussic Acid. He looked really terrified when he was told that 
I expected him to man the Life-boat and row out to the wreck. 
'And then,’ I added, 'when you get there you’ll have to drive a 
coach and six through the citadel, and take it by a coup-de-main* 

" ' It’s the worst affair I’ve been in yet,’ said he. 

" ' What a silly old sweetheart I have provided myself with,’ 
said I. ' Can’t you see that what you’ve got to do is to walk into 
Joe’s room and just tell him from me that you’ve come to fetch 
him.’ 

" ' But it’s such ticklish work,’ he replied. ' Suppose the forlorn 
hope comes to grief, and I spill the apple-cart, how shall I dare to 
bring the coach and six back to port again ? ’ However, I per- 
suaded him to try, and he’s gone down to Oxford to-day. He 
insisted on having a letter to carry to Joe, so I wrote one for him. 
And now that I have shuffled off all the burden of embarrassment 
on to Hugh’s shoulders, I am waiting with trepidation for the re- 
sult. Whatever I shall do when they drive up to the door (as I am 
convinced they will do — for I don’t believe in any one refusing 
Hugh anything), I don’t know. If I’m too stiff and ladylike with 
Joe, the situation will freeze and we shall get stuck, and that won’t 
do. And if I’m too sisterly that won’t do either. It certainly is 
ticklish work. Stop I I know what I’ll do — I’ll go to the station 
and meet them as they come out of the carriage. 

"Do you know, Sarry darling, I’m convinced I shall be of the 
greatest service to the General in his future campaigns. I’m sure 
I’m a born strategist I 


CHAPTER XXI 


HOW JOE AND HIS SELF LIVED IN GLOOM AT OXFORD AND WOULD NOl 
GO TO LONDON. HOW GENERAL DESPREZ CAME FOR THEM, AND JOE 
KEPT HIS SELF IN CHECK. HOW LOSSIE MET THEM ALL AT PAD- 
DINGTON. 

I GET accustomed to looking these letters in the face. A few 
weeks since when I began to read them (for I have held to a rule 
of taking the letters as the dates called for them) I should have 
flinched a great deal over some parts of the foregoing. 

I see now, all this length of time after, what a stupid letter 
my second one was. I suppose when the tension was new and I 
had all my natural reserve of strength at my back I was able to 
make believe, as my first letter was all right. But then at that 
time the whole of the punishment was falling on that second self, 
the young man of my metaphor, and I was cool and capable, and 
wrote his letters for him. A few days later he merged in me, and 
his washy identity diluted mine, palsied my judgment, and mad© 
me incapable of action. I really ought to have dragged him up to 
London at once, shown him to Lossie, and asked her to tell him 
not to be an ass. 

But he, poor fellow, was so sick with sleeplessness, and I had 
almost written so weak with loss of blood, that I gave way to his 
prayer to be allowed to turn himself round and think, and wrote 
another letter for him. He should have left me alone to do it. 
Perhaps it does not seem so stupid a letter to you as it does to 
me? I wish I had some of my old letters to Lossie here now. 
You would understand it easily enough then. 

I do not know if it would have made matters any better if I 
had written a less transparent excuse for not coming to London, 
or even if I had been courageous enough to go. I don’t think I 
acted from any confessed fear that I should be unable to silence 
tliat other young man and keep him under. It was rather that I 
sought safety in solitude, and had above all things a terrible dread 
that I must hate the General. The old love of Lossie that began 
as she passed through the ray of sunshine from the pantry win- 
dow at Poplar Villa, with a cargo of stewing pears and little Joey 

188 


JOSEPH VANCE 


189 


(dragging at ter skirts, was still so much of a baby love that it 
shrank from the idea of hating anything beloved of Lossie, and 
did not dare to see itself revealed in its new form — in fact, shrank 
from too close a definition of what that new form was. My 
impression is that had I had a good adviser at hand, my Mother 
for instance, qualified from a wider range of experience to pooh- 
pooh a grande passion for its victim’s sake, pitying him all the 
while, I should have decided to go up to London in the course of 
the following week, and should probably have blundered into some 
modus vivendi. As it was I went on flinching, excruciating the 
position, and getting on very slowly, if at all, with the Epinicia. 

My cowardice might have set up a permanent gulf between me 
and Lossie. But that was not to happen yet (whatever came 
later) and that it did nbt do so then was entirely due to Lossless 
husband. I should have written to “ General Desprez,” but you 
must remember that I now look back at these early days through a 
period in which I knew him as her husband. When he died, and 
I need not refer now to the splendid story of his death — everybody 
knows it — I was able to be grateful that it was he and none other 
that Lossie had married. 

I have great difficulty in telling after many years exactly what 
occurred. After a serious attempt to rearrange my ideas, all I 
recollect is, that some days (I cannot say how many) after my 
letter to Lossie I was reading or trying to read in my college 
room, when a step came up the stairs to which I called out Come 
in” — as I knew my outer door was open. Thinking it was some 
books I had ordered, I did not look up, but left my head (or shall I 
say that other young man’s head), for it ached, on the hand that 
supported it, and merely said, ^‘You can put them down.” Then 
I heard a voice that was not a bookseller’s nor a messenger’s ask 
for me by name. 

I looked up and saw, to my thinking, the handsomest young 
middle-aged man I had ever set eyes on, and the very first thing 
that passed through my mind was that he was out of uniform. 
No doubt my subliminal consciousness had previously made a note 
of the fact that a soldier was in the neighbourhood. For other 
big men, Townrow of the ’Varsity Eight for instance, had come 
through that small door, making it look smaller, but no one ever 
thought about uniforms at all. I went on to a perception of a 
grave smile and pleasant voice and manner, a massive cheek- 
bone showing the scar of a bad sabre cut which had also touched 
the upper lip and left a hairless point in the moustache. One 
always remembers some very little thing more clearly than any^ 


190 


JOSEPH VANCE 


thing else, and I now recall this scar as his hand stroking his 
moustache left it visible. It was a great hand with hair on the 
back, strong nails and square knuckles, but blue veins in a clear 
olive skin. My other young man shrank from taking this hand 
when it came out for his, for of course he knew who its owner was, 
but I saw the necessity for action and thrust him aside and took 
it myself. All I wanted to do was to avoid letting anybody know 
of his existence. 

“ Hugh Desprez,” said the soldier, answering an enquiry I had 
not made. May I come in ? ” 

‘‘Of course — ^please do ! No ! Do go on smoking — I often have 
lots of fellows all smoking at once in here.” 

“I came back through Oxford from some War Office business — 

I have a letter I was to give you from ” He paused half a 

second, almost as if he feared that the name he was about to utter 
would, spoken by him, grate on the other young man, of whose 
existence of course he knew nothing. When it came, it was 
spoken with great gentleness, almost apologetically: — 

“ — Fron^ Miss Thorpe.” 

“ From Lossie ? ” 

“ From Lossie Thorpe,” said he, and gave me the letter, which I 
opened at once. It ran thus : 

“My dear little Joe: I have been waiting from day to day 
expecting you, and still no Joe! Do, dear Boy, throw the books 
aside for a very little while and come up and see your big brother- 
in-law that is to be. You have no idea how badly I want a real 
brother to welcome him, for Nolly only regards him as the eleventh 
part of an eleven, and as for Beppino, his behaviour has been 
scandalous. He only glares suspiciously at Hugh and very seldom 
speaks, and you know he can talk fast enough when he chooses. 
So do come soon, dear, only to please your loving big sister, Lossie.” 

“ There^s a postscript on the other side,” said my visitor, and so 
there was, to this effect: “I shall just tell Hugh to call for you 
on his way back through Oxford. He had better take this letter 
with him.” 

What could I do? The task I saw before me was a clear one. 
liossie was quite unconscious of my state of mind — why should 
she be otherwise? All I had to consider was whether I could keep 
that other young man under. Would he not become uncontrollable 
in his desolation, and break out? At the same time how could I 
oonceal his existence if I remained in Oxford to oblige him? No 


JOSEPH VANCE 191 

—the only way of concealing anything of this sort is to behave 
exactly as you would have done if it had not existed. 

What time does your train go. General Desprez ? said I. 
This was what I should have said under other circumstances, so I 
said it now. 

‘‘ You’ll come back with me, then ? That’s all right ! Oh, the 
train? There’s one at one-thirty. We should have nice time for 
some lunch at the Hotel, and just catch it comfortably.” 

“ I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” said I. And as I passed into 
my bedroom to get ready, I saw in the dressing-glass against the 
wall a haggard reflection, a lad of twenty quite worn out with 
want of sleep, rough-headed, jaded, pallid. It was that other 
young man, not doing any justice in his appearance to the intrepid 
resolution just formed in the heart of his original, who con- 
trasted him painfully with the reflection of the handsome face 
beyond, with no smile on it now, only a troubled gravity. I won- 
der whether he saw, in the youth his eyes were fixed on, something 
that brought memories of other battlefields. 

I was grateful to him for the way he helped me to ignore that 
other self, all the more grateful for the suspicion this glance at 
his reflection gave birth to that he was not altogether without a 
clue. The only other thing that favoured this idea was something 
that came into conversation during our journey up, when we had 
settled down towards the form of intercourse that was to be ours, 
and were chatting freely enough. 

I want to ask you,” said he, “ to forgive me for calling Miss 
Thorpe Lossie when I speak of her to you.” 

Why on earth should you ? ” said I. “ Of course.” 

“Well, you’re very kind I But I don’t know about the W 
course.’ It might not always be felt so. It’s taking your family 
name, you know — what you’ve always called her before I came 
intruding in like this. You see, they have so completely made me 
think of you as one of the family.” 

“ It has been like that.” 

“ And I remember that when I was a young chap — ^just got my 
ensigncy — my dear sister got engaged to a fellow. And mind you, 
she was the dearest sister ever a boy had — and Devil fly away 
with him if the very first time he saw me he didn’t talk of her as 
Tucksey, which was our pet name for her. Oh! how I hated 
him ! ” 

“ Perhaps it was the way he did it ? ” 

“If he hadn’t assumed it as a right, I dare say I should only 
have wanted to kick him. As it was, I wanted to murder him,” 


192 


JOSEPH VANCE 


and the General’s smile burst out all over his face as he added, 
I didn’t want you to want that, you know, so I just asked leave.” 

And did your sister go away ? ” said I, for my desire to put 
the other yoimg man in the background was beginning to take 
the form of an artificial ignoring of his indifierence as to whether 
Lossie went away or stayed. His verdict that it couldn’t matter 
to him where Lossie was, as he was to lose her so completely, was 
being set aside by me in favour of a possible conservation of some 
of Lossie (however little) in view of the perfect acceptability of 
General Desprez personally. For what Lossie said of the impos- 
sibility of refusing him anything was no mere fancy of a love- 
sick girl, but a simple fact which presented itself more and more 
clearly to me. Slight as our conversation was on this railway 
journey, and little as it would convey to a reader, his effect upon 
me in that short time was so strong, that when in answer to my 
question he said that his sister had died in the first year of her 
marriage, and then became thoughtful and silent, I began to feel 
annoyed with what possibly was an ungenerous feeling in the other 
young man, and to wish I was more entirely at liberty to feel 
sympathy about this sister of his. I asked what her husband’s 
name had been. 

Towerstairs — ^he was a cousin of this chap your Violet is 
going to marry. I haven’t told Lossie anything about him. I 
shall have to. But he’s not a pleasant subject — ^very few people 
easier to hate on their merits. But you mustn’t be anxious about 
Violet. Dick’s not like him.” 

‘‘ How do you like Dick ? ” 

don’t dislike him, — rather like him, in fact — only he’s not 
my sort. He’s knocked about a good deal. But I think he’s 
good-hearted. Don’t be uneasy about Violet — God bless my soul! 
Why, there’s Lossie come to meet us on the platform!” 

So she had, and it was Paddington already. The other young 
man might wince, and did, but it was a stage on the way to 
possibility that I could stand there on the railway platform with 
Lossie’s two dear hands in mine, and say to that other young man 
that her husband that was to be was, at any rate, not easy to hate 
on his merits. 

I think the bias in his favour was much the stronger owing to 
his frank and absolute acceptance of me as almost a member of the 
family. His speaking of “yo^r Violet” and referring to un- 
easiness about her fiance as natural to me in that position, pro- 
duced its effect, and gave me substantial help in keeping the other 
goung man in the background. 


CHAPTER XXn 


losste’s farewell injunctions to joe. his namesake is not a 

SOURCE OP satisfaction. A JOLLY WEDDING, AND THE CROAKING 

AFTER. DOSSIERS SEND-OFF. POOR JOE ! 

Having no means of knowing how far my mind is peculiar to 
myself, I cannot the least guess whether after Lossie’s marriage 
and departure for India, where the General was on the staff, I 
felt as another boy of twenty would have felt under the circum- 
stances. 

Looking back now I am able to discern through it all a domi- 
nant feeling of unflinching love and loyalty to Lossie. This never 
faltered in the slightest degree. If I were writing a story about 
another youth, such as I conceive would be practicable for the 
World’s stage, I should ascribe to him (at the outset at least) a 
tendency to resentment, to discovering some fault in Lossie, some 
bad faith, some neglect or omission of something — God knows 
what! — that would have put him on his guard against himself. 
What on earth the rigid moralist expects a poor girl to do under 
the like circumstances I have no idea. But I should accept the 
vernacular model for a stage lover if I were concocting one with a 
view to probability, or rather to my idea of what correct people 
think probable. As it is, I am constrained by the facts; and cam 
only record that Lossie remained to me then, as she remains to 
me now, one best thing that has been mine in this world. True, I 
have had but little of her! But what were my claims? — my 
deserts? After all, was I not what those young monkeys at Pen- 
guin’s christened me, a little blackguard out of the streets, whom 
Lossie had picked up therefrom and been a sister to ? Why should 
receiving so much constitute a claim for so much more ? Or is it 
come to this — that no girl shall ever be kind and sweet-hearted to 
a male baby outside her own family, because it is sure to grow 
and grow and grow, and in time become that monster, a Man, 
with all his confounded passions and so forth, which he will 
consider himself at liberty to yawn over and discard in due 
course ? 


193 


104 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Nor have I any idea whether my feeling towards General 
Desprez, of a kind of love for him under protest, was one that 
many in my position would have shared. But (and this was the 
odd part of it) I felt that it required his presence to keep it alive. 
Constant personal evidence of his acceptability was needed, to 
keep the querulousness of my secret self, the other young man of 
my Oxford fever, in abeyance. He was disconcerted while I was 
with the General, and retired into the background. As soon as 
the latter became a memory he began to reassert himself and try 
to convert me to his illiberal and jealous sentiments. He did not 
succeed because by the nature of things he was compelled to share 
my firm and unalterable loyalty to Lossie, which forbade dislike 
or mistrust of any object of her affection. Indeed, the nearest 
approach I had to any sympathy with him on this head was in my 
feeling glad that Lossie’s husband would be such as to lighten the 
task of forgiveness. This, however, involved the corollary that 
the absence of Lossie’s husband might make the maintenance of 
forgiveness less easy. I feel now a little ashamed of having given 
way at all to the other young man, but indeed the concession was 
of the slightest. 

I did not understand in those last days of intercourse with Los- 
sie why she recurred so frequently to the question of my Oxford 
studies. Possibly it was that she knew me better than I knew 
myself. 

‘‘ Dear, dear old Joe,” she said to me once, you will remember, 
wonT you, how you have promised me to stick on for the degree? 
I don’t want you to overwork, only not to let it slide because Pm 
gone.” 

/. “ I say, Lossie,” said I, “ I hope you’re going to recollect that 
the celebrated Double-First that I am to get is only imagination.” 
And I went on to point out that it was rather hard lines on a chap 
to tal^e for granted that he was going to get high Honours. 

“ Of course, Joe, I know it’s only been pretence about the 
' Double-First. But it was very nice pretence while it was all such 
a long way off, so don’t let’s give it up altogether. You know you 
may get a Double-First for all you lecture away so gravely about 
a chap’s responsibilities ! ” 

“ A pig may fly — ^you know the rest.” 

‘‘Stuff and nonsense, Joe! You’re quite as likely as any other 
bird. Why are you taking a new tone all of a sudden? Suppose 
it was all pretence, why, let’s go on pretending! Your big mar- 
ried sister in India will be the first to forgive you, dear boy, if 
you get no degree at all. But just think what she’ll feel like when 


JOSEPH VANCE 195 

fihe sees her other little brother’s name high np in both lists. 
Yes, I’U ease you dovm a few places if you insist upon it.” 

‘‘ It wasn’t India when we pretended, and my big sister wasn’t 
going to be married,” struck in the other young man of my inner 
consciousness, quite audibly to me, and I think not absolutely 
inaudibly to Lossie. However, to drown his intrusion I said, with 
a sudden beaming cheerfulness and confidence, that I daresayed I 
shouldn’t make a bad show; and, anyhow, I was going to do my 
best. But I only put all this side on to silence his murmur — and 
then I suspected myself of having overdone it. For there was 
grave doubt in Lossie’s eyes for a few seconds, and then she sud- 
denly changed the subject. 

‘‘I wish India was going to be half as easy in its mind about 
Beppino as about you, dear,” she said. And as Beppino was a 
constant source of anxiety to me (but chiefly on her behalf) I 
didn’t see my way to saying anything reassuring. So — I suppose 
in order to say as little as possible — I said, “ He’s rum ! ” Then 
not to seem to dismiss him too briefly, I added, ^‘You know, be- 
cause we’ve talked it over so often, that I don’t think anything of 
Beppino seeming self-centred and reserved, because it will all go 
off when he gets older and develops.” 

I know, dear Joe,” said Lossie. “ But all the same it would be 
rather nice if he were a little more ” 

“ Affectionate ? ” 

‘‘Exactly. Of course I’m sure he’s very fond of me and Vi, 
only one likes a little more demonstrativeness sometimes. Vi 
calls him a selfish little beast, and says he ought to have had his 
nonsense flogged out of him at school.” 

“ He would have been ten times worse — at least, that’s my be- 
lief.” I said this because I knew Lossie had fits of repentance 
about Joey never having been sent to a Public School, like me and 
Nolly. “But don’t you fuss about him. Loss dear. He’ll be all 
right as he grows older.” 

“ I know we are both saying we think so, Joe. But isn’t it like 
what one says about the Channel boat when you feel a little unwell 
before she starts, and every one says it will be all right when you 
get into the open sea, and then when you do, it’s brandy and 
basins. Still, Beppino may be better as he grows older — who 
can tell? But I do certainly wish he would show some feeling 
somehow — if he got in a rage with Hugh for taking me away, for 
instance ! He’s so very philosophical about it.” 

I said that when it came to going away, Beppino would be 
heartbroken at parting. “ He must, you know,” I added emphat- 


196 


JOSEPH VANCE 


ically. How could he help it ? and that other young man felt 
a pleasure at the emphasis with which I spoke and tried to egg me 
on to say more. But I silenced him with an effort, and then had 
a misgiving that Lossie had seen the effort, for it appeared to me 
that she herself spoke with one. You and Papa,’’ she said, 
laying her hand on mine, “ must keep your spirits up, and remem- 
ber that it won’t be for ever. I shall come back in a year or so — 
I)erhaps less. And you must write me plenty of letters, dear old 
Joe; long ones, you know, so that I shall know all about every- 
thing that goes on at home — just as if I was here! Don’t get up 
and run away. It’s only Hugh.” And Lossie held my hand 
firmly, as if she was afraid I should come to no good if left alone. 
As soon as the General took my other hand she released it. I was 
rather glad he had come in, as I felt the other young man would 
keep out of sight and hearing now. 

The state of tension and mutual reserve between us, always 
accompanied with resolute denial of any need for either on my 
part (in so much as I of course affirmed to myself that Lossie was 
unaware of the earthquake she had occasioned in the terra firma 
of my inner-consciousness), existed more or less until the excru- 
ciating day of her wedding and departure. Her wedding, and her 
sister’s, for they were married on the same day. 

Is it worth the pain to rake up my memories of that day, in 
order to tell a very little about it in a narrative that no one will 
read? But truly I can remember very little, for I was not in a 
state to notice much or closely. Indeed, I can only record as 
certain that there was a monstrous aching sensation, whether 
headache or heartache I cannot say, somewhere in a throng of 
well-dressed people, and that as it could not have existed without 
a local habitation, it had been provided with me in that capacity 
and afflicted me accordingly. It was mean of it to gall me then, 
thwarting my efforts towards a robust and cheerful attitude of 
mind, which I felt would be sadly wanted for Dr. Thorpe’s 
sake. He had said to me, “Well now, Joe, whatever happens I 
have made up my mind that there shall be a jolly wedding, and 
I’ll do all my croaking after.” And I had resolved to allow carte- 
’blanche to this aching later on, if only it would leave me free for 
these few hours. 

Very few external impressions reached me through it. One was 
that my Father became extremely merry with champagne, and 
that I heard (or was afraid that I should hear) some one saying 
something about a vulgar fat man who talked so loud — I hope no 
one did. I doubt if I heard at the time that Vi’s beauty and 


JOSEPH VANCE 


197 


splendid get-up threw her sister quite into the shade. Probably 
it reached me after, but even the oppression on my mind could not 
close my eyes to the difference between the two bridegrooms. 

Shall I find, I wonder, in those unopened letters any allusion 
to the last sight I had of Lossie on this last day of her single life ? 
As I look back now what I recall is this. 

We — that is to say, her father, two brothers, her aunt and my- 
self — ^had taken in the library a private farewell of the two brides, 
from which even the two bridegrooms were excluded. All had left 
the room except me. Aunt Izzy after a final effort to prevent Vi 
and her Bart from going to the Hotel Bristol in Paris, as a friend’s 
cousin of hers knew a lady who caught smallpox there thirty years 
before. This had been a favourite reminiscence always of Aunt 
Izzy’s, because the Hotel Bristol, although less healthy than the 
Morgue, was very haut-ton in those days. So she wasn’t likely to 
forget it now. Nolly had gone, having really unbent and come 
down to our mortal level — ^but then it wasn’t the cricketing season ! 
Joey had followed his sisters, after recapitulating various orders he 
had given for things to be sent him from abroad during the wed- 
ding tour and subsequently from India, where General and Mrs. 
Desprez were going by Overland Route in the course of six weeks, 
will, my precious child,” said Lossie as she went downstairs, 

indeed I will send you a beautiful figure of Buddha with a head 
and hands to waggle if I can find one.” And then Dr. Thorpe 
had said, “Come along, Joe! You must come and see them go, 
you know,” and I had answered, “ I’m coming.” And he, putting 
faith in that statement, went on in front. 

I was not so sure I would go, though! Could I not sneak off 
and lie perdu until the carriages rolled away and the darkness 
descended? But Lossie herself came running back and found me 
there. 

“Oh, Joe — dear Joe — dear old boy! DonH look so pale and 
heartbroken ! I shall come back to you. Indeed I shall.” 

I could not say a word. And her father began calling from 
below, “ Come, Loss, here’s the General going away without you. 
Look alive ! ” 

“ All right. Papa, tell him to take Aunty instead.” 

I had begun to try to say something. Heaven knows what, when 
Lossie, who had distinguished herself by not crying, and had 
thereby, as I afterwards heard, rather scandalized her sister, sud- 
denly burst into a flood of tears, and throwing her arms round me 
kissed me on both cheeks. 

“ Dear, dear little Boy — dear other little brother — good-bye.” 


198 


JOSEPH VANCE 


My hand was on the library chair in which her father was 
sitting when he took me on his knee, a dozen years ago, to read 
the Euclid. The door that closed noiselessly behind her was the 
same door that she had come through then unheard, and I thought 
to myself how those same arms had come round my neck as I sat 
there, a small enquiring mind with all its life to come. 

If only I could have felt now as I felt then ! But I had become 
a man in the years between. I remained to her the child of the 
old time that was gone, and she could kiss me. But I could not 
kiss her back, though it might easily be we should never meet 
again. 

I did not see, or at any rate cannot recall, how she left the 
K>om. What 1 next remember is being alone there with Dr. 
Thorpe. 


CHAPTER XXm 


HOW CHRISTOPHER VANCE & OO.’s MR. MACFARREN GAVE NO SATJSFAO 

TION. AND HOW A SUBSTITUTE WAS FOUND FOR HIM. TO DR. 

THORPE FOR CONSOLATION. OF AN EMPTY WHISKEY-BOTTLE. 

I SUPPOSE now your Miss Lossie’s gone a-soldierinV' said my 
Father to me one day in the spring of the following year, ‘‘youll 
be able to give a little of your time to your poor old Daddy ^ ” 

This was very unfair, but it was in my Father’s peculiar style; 
and this style was so entirely accepted and understood by all 
parties from Seraphina Dowdeswell upwards, that this speech was 
not looked on by me as calling for refutation or comment. I 
accepted the implied accusation good-humouredly. 

Anything want doing. Dad ? ” 

“ No, Nipper dear, I don’t know that there’s anything particular, 
but if there was I’d go as far as three-and-six on this here young 
Allender not being able to do it ! ” 

This referred to a young man of the name of Macfarren who 
had recently been engaged as a Secretary. Why he had been re- 
christened Allender was a problem to which Dr. Thorpe and I 
gave a good deal of attention, but entirely without success. My 
Father’s own way of accounting for it was that he called him 
Allender because his name was Macfarren, and he contrived to 
imply that any person of sound mind, and not bribed or otherwise 
biassed, would naturally do the same thing. 

“ Isn’t he up to the mark ? ” 

Yes,” said my Father, in contradiction of his first indictment, 
‘^he’s up to the mark fast enough, for that matter! But he’s 
never fine enough for his own likin’s, and always tryin’ to put a 
patch on what he’s done afore. If he’d keep down to the mark 
instead of balloonin’ up, he’d do better ! ” 

It struck me that poor Macfarren was being found fault with 
for a very high quality, usually coveted in young employes. But I 
asked for an example, towards a better understanding of the case. 
Whereupon my Father informed me briefly that he had instructed 
his Secretary to acquaint the Local Authorities that they were at 
liberty to go to Hell, but that under no circumstances would ha 

199 


200 


JOSEPH VANCE 


comply ■with an instruction received from their Surveyor. And 
this here young Allender, he writes a civil-like sort of letter, as if 
butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth ” 

But, Dad, you know you didn’t expect Macfarren to write 
exactly as you said ” 

Perhaps not, dear Nipper. But I did expect him to tramslate 
(as the saying is) without losing all the taste of the spirit. Just 

you read his letter and see what he’s washed it down to ” 

And my Father turned over the thin pages of a copying book 
till he found the following letter, dated about a week since : 

“ Gentlemen : 

Rat chett and FauVs Factory, New PecJcham Bye. 

‘^With reference to your esteemed favour referring to Cupola 
at above factory we may take this opportunity of pointing out 
that you are in error in your supposition that we are in error in 
denying that the plans have been in any respect departed from, or 
that any infringement of the Building Act has been committed in 
the present construction. In conclusion we may say that we have 
no intention of suspending the work, as you suggest, and that we 
are quite prepared to defend our action in paying no attention to 
your instruction. Awaiting your early reply, 

“ we are. Gentlemen, 

“Your obedient servants, 

Christopher Vance & Co. 

‘^p. pr. E. M.” 

I was unable to say a word in favour of Mr. Macfarren’s style 
of prose composition. But it was not this that my Father thought 
defective. It was the omission of any rendering of his permis- 
sion to the Board of Works to go further off than Purgatory. 

He knows all the c’rect expressions, and chucks ’em in,” said 
his employer, but he don’t work it out convincin’ ! ” And he 
certainly didn’t. 

What was wrong with the Cupola ? ” 

“ Nothin’ whatever ! But the Bricklayers refused to work on it * 
without a centerin’, said it was dangerous and they all of ’em had 
families. So I altered the line of the Engineer’s drawing — ^just 
an inch or so — and they was all satisfied and ’appy. But then the ’ 
District Surveyor shoves his bottle nose in — his name’s Ditchfield 
(or Garstin, is it, I forget which!)— and he says, ^ Stop off this 
here bricklayin’,’ says he — ‘you’re making the hark of this here 
curve a good three inches less than shown on droring, and a 


JOSEPH VANCE 


201 


hlgherin^ of it up, in course, if it’s to work out the same narrow- 
ness stop’ — you understand all that, Joey hay? — it’s what they 
call marthamarticks at your shop ? 

I understood it perfectly. Intelligibility to the Reader is not 
of the esseiice of the contract between us, at least until I have 
some assurance of his existence. So possibly he may not under- 
stand about the Cupola as clearly as I did. Never mind! 

And there it was, you see,” my Father continued. “ Two 
bricklayers and three labourers eatin’ their thumbs off for half-a- 
day, and nobody to tell ’em to tell the Surveyor to ’ang himself; 
because I was away, and George (that’s the foreman on the job) 
he’s a narvous customer and timorous like. So when I came back 
to the Works here, there was George had been waitin’ an hour, 
after drivin’ his pony like mad, and then next mornin^ comes a 
letter from the Surveyor’s Orfice, and I told young Allender what 
he’d got to write, and you see what sort of a job he turns out. — J. 
do hate mincin’, and always did.” 

If he had followed your dictation exactly it certainly would 
have read better. But he evidently thinks that it doesn’t much 
matter what there is in a letter if you begin with a catch-word.” 

‘‘What’s that? — oh, ah, I know! When you write across the 
top, arter dear Sir! But why ever couldn’t the young beggar 
write Hell, with a line underneath it, and then go on — ‘ Kef errin’ 
to the above, etcetrer, etcetrer’? — ^You may laugh, Joey, but it 
would have had a sort of forcibleness. Now in this here young 
Allender’s letter, I don’t see where the forcibleness comes in.” 

“ No more do I ! You had better get a man who knows how to 
write a better letter than that. Why, he’s a fool! Look how he 
finishes up with ‘ awaiting your reply ’ as if his letter was an 
enquiry ! ” 

“Well now, Nipper dear, I thought that the best part of the 
letter — it looks so well ! ” 

“You must consider what a letter is meant to say. Dad. — ^Lots 
of things look well in themselves, but it doesn’t do to put them in 
other things’ places.” 

“Right you are, Joey, sure enough! — See what a lot one lams 
at a ’Varsity! But this here young Allender’s expressions are so 
conwincin’ when by themselves, that there’s nothing you can lay 
hold of to sack him by. He argue-bargues with you like a winkle 
that won’t come out of his shell.” 

Nevertheless, my Father, feeling himself fortified by his counsel 
with me, and having as it were the University of Oxford at his 
back, did lay hold of something to sack Mr. Macfarren by, and 


202 


JOSEPH VANCE 


sacked him. And the young man, feeling himself injured, ap- 
pealed against the judgment to me — “ I am confident, Mr. Joseph,’^ 
said he, “ that could you become fully acquainted with my usual 
standard of correspondence that none would be more ready than 
yourself to admit that the letter in question was far from equal. 
I feel certain. Sir, that your well-known justice and impartiality 
I may rely on to make due allowance for a certain amount of 
natural disturbance amounting to upset, and due to circum- 
stances to which I will not further refer, and I trust you will not 
press for.” 

Considering this as an invitation to do so, and also because my 
curiosity was aroused, I forthwith pressed for the circumstances — ■ 
and the pressure was responded to with alacrity. 

‘^However reluctant I may be,” said Mr. Macfarren, for whom 
I was beginning to anticipate a seat in Parliament, “ to refer 
further to the circumstances I have referred to as undesirable for 
further reference, I feel that I should do less than justice to my- 
self were I to shrink from communicating to you that on more 
than one occasion recently Mr. Vance has expressed himself with 
a warmth which — and no one can be less ready than myself to 
impute blame. And perhaps I should hesitate to ascribe to 
stimulants a momentary aberration possibly due to other causes, 
but can refer for confirmation to Miss Dowdeswell ” 

I cut Mr. Macfarren short, as the idea of holding a court- 
martial on my Father for drunkenness, with this chap and Sera- 
phina for witnesses, didn’t at all recommend itself to me. But I 
asked Pheener whether it was true that my Father had been drunk 
and violent and frightened the Secretary so that he couldn’t write 
his letters, and Pheener, though she flushed with indignation 
against my informant, whom she described as a ‘^circumstantial 
young upstart,” nevertheless admitted the truth of (I presume) his 
circumstances by saying, “It was only that once, after all.” 
Pheener was a good girl, and very fond of her master, whom she 
would have backed up in any amount of drunkenness if the ques- 
tion had been under public discussion, however much she dis- 
approved of it in private. But was it only that once, after 
all? 

A new Secretary, or confidential Clerk, was soon found. An 
advertisement evoked one hundred and twenty-odd replies. 
Among others, I remember one from Penzance requiring informa- 
tion about exact salary, probable increase of salary, whether 
Advertiser was married, single, or a widower, what was his 
religious denomination, and so on, ending up with an enquiry 


JOSEPH VANCE 


203 


whether a cat was kept, as the writer could not bear to be in a 
room where a cat had been. Another was prepared to concede an 
interview if the Advertiser was Convinced of Sin, and would write 
to that effect. Another was an absolute master of Short-hand, 
and spoke seven languages, but was starting for Shanghai in three 
weeks — would be glad though of a stop-gap during that period! 
Luckily more than a hundred were about as practicable as the 
foregoing, so less than twenty remained to be dealt with. My 
Father suggested making a bunch of them and getting Pheener to 
draw one, which was done; it turned out to be from Robinson in 
the Old Kent Road, and no sooner was he open to view than my 
Father repented, and said he had hoped it would be Pattleborough, 
who was twenty-seven and lived at Highgate. 

“ But, Dad dear,” said I, “ if you really saw one you had a fancy 
for, why put him in a bundle and then fish for him? LePs find 
him now and see what he’s like.” 

We identified the answer my Father meant, but not by hia 
recollection of it, which was fallacious. The name was Hickman, 
of 27 Loughborough Road. And Hickman was written to and 
gave satisfactory references to a fish-salesman and a dentist, and 
was installed as confidential scribe after verification. 

I remember how serious Dr. Thorpe looked over my narrative of 
this incident. “Pm afraid,” said he, “we shall all go to rack 
and ruin now Lossie’s gone. Shall you write this out to her ? ” 

“ I have written,” I replied. “ And I begged her to write 
straight to him herself, not saying that I had told her anything, 
but only that it was evident I was uneasy. Just as she did that 
time after Mother died.” 

“ It may do good, but it will be three months before he can get 
her letter, and it’s a long time. I will try to speak to him myself 
if you like, but I don’t feel that much good will come of it.” 

“ No more do I, Doctor, to say the truth. Of course you know, 
I do speak to him in a certain sense, and while I’m here it will act 
as a check, but it’s not like Lossie.” 

We were sitting in the half -dark of a fire-lighted room at Poplar 
Villa. The others had gone to bed, and I had put the moderator 
lamp outside to finish smoking after running down and being 
blown out. We sat silent as the fire flickered, and each was think- 
ing that nothing was like Lossie. Each was a bit afraid to talk 
much to the other about her. So I held on to silence, and when 
the Doctor spoke again he harked back on the conversation. 

“ And what a clever man your Father would have been, if he had 
only had education! Fancy his knowing that a dome could be 


204 


JOSEPH VANCE 


safely built without a centering! And standing out against the 
opinion of the bricklayers ! ” 

“Yes — for a man who says he knows nothing about building, 
and never did, that’s not bad ! ” 

“ But I suppose his draughtsman in the Office there backed him 
up — ^he wasn’t alone ? ” 

“Yes, he was — says they were all against him to a man. And 
the bricklayers refused at first to go on with it, till he altered it, 
and then the Surveyor cut up, rough — said he knew it would be 
safer, but it was an alteration.” 

“And has your Father satisfied the requirements of the 
Building Act ? ” 

“ He’s satisfied the Surveyor.” And those who remember 
Prae-County-Council history in matters of London building will 
appreciate Dr. Thorpe’s delicacy in pursuing this conversation no 
further. Instead of doing so he prepared to retire to his library, 
to do a little peaceful writing before going to bed, and I said good- 
night and walked away home. 

I had noticed the contents of the whiskey-bottle at lunch, and 
knew my father had taken only a very moderate allowance, before 
I started to walk over to Poplar Villa. I had dined there, and he 
had had some dinner alone, as he was expecting some one on busi- 
ness later. When I arrived, I found him in the large leather 
chair in the Snuggery, sound asleep and snoring heavily. The 
whiskey-bottle was empty on the table beside him, and I looked 
round hoping to see more empty glasses than one, indicating that 
he had been helped through quite two-thirds of the bottle. But 
I could see none. And in the morning I noticed that my Father 
was ill-tempered. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


joe’s duplex gear discomforts him. justice to PINDAR. HOW JOB 

WENT TO LYNMOUTH WITH A READING PARTY, AND INVITED MASTER 

JOSEPH THORPE. THE LATTER GOES UNDER A SEA-ROCK. JOE AFTER 

HIM. HOW A LIFE WAS SAVED FOR ONE WHO COULD NOT USB IT FOR 

GOOD. 

When I returned seriously to reading, the first thing I did was 
to put the Epinicia on the shelf and go to other work. The 
associations of Pindar had become painful. It would have been 
wiser as an act of discipline to go through them at whatever cost, 
I put them aside to finish later in the year, and in the meanwhile, 
deserving, as I thought, a little real restful luxury, devoted myself 
to Differential and Integral Calculus. By alternating these 
Scientific Recreations with the Spherical Engine and its Recipro- 
cating Movement, I contrived to wile away a good deal of time, 
and to make my life endurable enough. As I have already had 
the originality to remark. Youth and Hope will reassert their 
rights even after the severest shocks. Of course I remained all 
right — almost boastfully so! It was the other young man, who 
being as it were me against my will, would make me get up off 
the bed where he was passing a sleepless night, to pace monot- 
onously about over the head of a Duke’s nephew underneath, who 
complained to the Master, and procured for me an admonition, 
and for himself an apology. It was the other young man who in 
consequence went for long walks at night; who distracted my 
attention in the day from whatever I was engaged on to remind 
me of old days at Poplar Villa; who refused to eat the food that I 
provided for him; who was constantly demanding the solace of a 
pipe, which I was compelled to smoke on his behalf. It was cruel 
of him, for I had also my own anxieties to attend to, about which 
he did not trouble in the least. He said more than once that if 
my Father chose to drink too much whiskey it really was his own 
lookout, and he couldn’t bother himself about it. There was only 
one thing about which he and I were agreed, and that was the pipe. 
His retrospects about Poplar Villa and the old unforgotten time 
became more forgiving and peaceful, and I grew more sanguine 


206 


JOSEPH VANCE 


of good effects from Lossless letter from India when it should 
come, as he and I watched the smoke-rings travel across the room, 
and hang in the air and slowly vanish. 

Still he became so troublesome whenever I went back to the 
Classics I had been reading at the time of Lossie’s engagement, 
that in order to do them justice I felt a change of scene was neces- 
sary. So when an intimate College friend suggested that I should 
accompany him and four other fellows and a Tutor to Lynmouth 
in Devonshire on a reading party I accepted the invitation grate- 
fully. His name was Featherstonehaugh, but he was called 
Guppy for short, by his friends. — I remember once at a place 
where we were playing at finding out words with ivory alphabets, 
I chose all the letters of Featherstonehaugh and mixed them up, 
and though I declared that it was a fairly well-known Scotch 
name, all efforts to guess it failed, and I scored accordingly. 

If a man could be half-a-dozen people at once and wanted to 
enjoy himself thoroughly, I should recommend him to be a read- 
ing party in a fine Autumn at a seaside place in Devon. I leave 
other people to advocate other localities, and adhere as in duty- 
bound to the one I got so much satisfaction from myself. It is 
very desirable that all danger from overwork should be avoided 
among young men who have only lately done growing, and the 
climate of Devon is a most favourable one in this respect. For if 
the reading-party goes out for a swim in the early morning, 
dressed in the most extravagantly coloured flannel shirts it can 
buy, and after stopping in the water too long, throws stones for 
quite half-an-hour at a sea-gull, who takes no notice, and then goes 
home to a breakfast of fish and eggs and bacon and even kidneys, 
and tea and coffee and marmalade and rolls and potted meat and 
no shrimps this morning — this reading party, I say, by the time it 
has lighted its pipes and settled down to work on the beach or 
under the trees at Water smeet or elsewhere, will be sure to drop 
asleep contrary to its usual practice and to wake up and remark 
that it says that this will never do, it has been asleep ever so long. 
This is entirely due to the climate. In Scotland it is otherwise. 
The mountain air is so stimulating that you very soon read your- 
self into a brain-fever. At least so I was assured by authorities — - 
I have never read there myself. 

I really believe I was the only conscientious book-worm of all 
that happy party. I am sure I was the only one under a cloud, 
or else all the others made believe very successfully. It is quite 
true that one of them, named Thornberry, told me that a canker- 
worm was gnawing at his vitals, but nobody could have guessed it. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


207 

as he was one of the merriest of the lot, and his digestion was to 
all appearance perfect. The entozoid he mentioned had been 
placed in his system by a young lady named Emily whom he had 
sate on the stairs with at two dances, and once met in Hyde Park. 
I did not reciprocate his confidence. Even my other young man 
didn’t want me to do this. 

Our Tutor had been selected with a view to non-interferenoe, 
and was so often required to wink at omissions that at last, at 
some particular wink, his eye remained shut. He had so recently 
graduated that the iron of the degree had not had time to enter 
into his soul, and he was as a new Pope intoxicated with the 
security of his position and flinging indulgences about without 
consideration for the stock. He might also be likened to the 
Kaffir lately inducted into the trousers of civilisation, who cannot 
be relied on not to pull them off suddenly and backslide into 
Pleathenism. He had proved a blessing to the men who coached 
him, Europe having come to the conclusion that the coaches who 
could pass J. Hall Shaw could pass anybody. And sent her sons 
to them to be passed accordingly. 

After we had been enjoying ourselves for about a week, it oc- 
curred to me that it might be well if J oey Thorpe were to pay me 
a visit. It would give him an opportunity of enlarging his ideas, 
which I always supposed w’ere cramped by narrow-minded tutors, 
and of getting his first introduction to University life in an in- 
direct way. For his Father’s intention was that Joey should 
sooner or later go to Oxford or Cambridge, according as the bias 
of his mind was towards Classics or Mathematics. 

Joey came, and I had a good opportunity of finding what the 
boy was really like. Of course I may be said to have had ample 
opportunities before, as I had known him from babyhood. But 
while Lossie was to the fore, I lived under a spell which forbade 
my seeing Joey otherwise than as she wished him to be seen. I was 
continually disguising him in my own mind to help her to disguise 
him in hers. And each of us helped the other to indulge a false 
view of Master Joseph, who really was, to put him plainly, one 
of the most selfish little beggars I ever came across. When I 
write of him now with some impatience, please note that it is 
provoked by my recollection of him at this time, and has nothing 
to do with his subsequent misdeeds. 

It was rather disgusting to me, a week after introducing him 
into our septemvirate as Dr. Thorpe’s youngest son (the Docto^ 
being, of course, well known by fame), to find that he had been 
already christened Hhe Cub.” I knew my friends were as liberal 


208 


JOSEPH VANCE 


and generous-hearted as any average lot of University boys any- 
where, and I knew also that I was popular among them. So I 
felt this discovery, on Lossless account. How could I write to her 
in India of Joey’s visit, and either conceal from her or tell her 
he had earned this disgraceful sobriquet? Of course I was not 
intended to hear it; and, equally of course, I did hear it. Then 
regret ensued. 

say, Pindar,” said Featherstonehaugh, using my nickname 
at the time. For we had a profusion of nicknames, varying ac- 
cording to the particular study of the moment. Just now I was 
on my Isthmian Odes again, nearing the end. 

‘‘ What’s the rumpus. Guppy ? ” 

We’re sorry, old chap.” 

«What for?” 

‘^For calling little Thorpe the Cub, and you hearing it. We 
didn’t go to do it, old chap ! ” 

^‘What an old Ass you are then. Gup! Of course if you lie 
on your back in the sea, and shout out things to friends on the 
top of a cliff, everybody is sure to hear what you say.” 

“ Sure to 1 ” said Guppy, pulling thoughtfully at a cigar. “ Sure 
to! But we didn’t want you to, all the same.” 

However, Joey had got his nickname, and it stuck to him. It’s 
not so easy to undo a thing of this sort! — So when a few days 
after this we were all plunging off the rocks, and Joey suddenly 
disappeared and didn’t come up again, the cry that called my at- 
tention was, The Cub’s gone under ! the Cub’s gone under ! ” 

I was across the rock starting to swim out into the outer wash 
of the sea; and as I heard the cry, struck back and was landed on 
the rock as the incoming wave rose. Within and in the shelter of 
the rock lay our boat; and from the heaving green mass that 
surged and sank as the rock-basin filled and emptied rose the 
heads of three who had dived for him at once — Featherstonehaugh, 
Thornberry, and Carvalho, the last a young man in whose face 
one saw an Arab or Negro ancestry written plainly. He shouted 
as he rose : 

He’s under the rock ! It’s a cave — it’s a cave,” and in- 
stantly dived again. He was a splendid diver, and the surface 
smoothed over him, and I knew he was seeking about in the still 
green water below. 

“ For God’s sake, you two,” I shouted, don’t dive. Get to the 
boat.” And then somehow we three were all in the boat, and I 
was fastening a longish rope we had with us round my waist. 

“ Keep hold the end,” I cried, and pay out clear ! ” And 


JOSEPH VANCE 


209 


down I went straight towards the rock and under the hollow of it, 
for the evidence of which I only had conjecture and the word of 
Carvalho. Had it not been as described I should have been 
stunned probably. — ^As it was I felt him slip by me, rising winded 
from his immersion. Down I went, and turning over saw above 
me — almost still — the floating body of Beppino. It was a case for 
a great effort, and I made it. I got him down, got him under the 
rock ledge, gave him a push for the open and then felt a con- 
vulsion as the water choked me. I was just aware of the rope 
drag as they pulled me out. Then I became insensible and knew 
nothing till I found myself coming to in great misery on a bed 
with my friends about me. It is said by many of those rescued 
in this way that drowning is not a painful death. But few of 
them have a word in favour of resuscitation. 

When you went under,” said Guppy to me afterwards, 

Tripey ” (which was one of Thornberry’s nicknames) was taken 
funky and wanted to haul you out. But I told him not to be an 
Idiot. Then we saw the Cub’s carcass under water and Blackey 
fetched him out, while Tripey and I got you into the boat. The 
way you kept slipping was enough to put one past, as Nibs at 
Balliol used to say. There was no keeping hold! However, we 
got both your corpses on board and rowed straight for the Coast- 
guard Station, where they put hot things to your feet and waggled 
your arms about. The Cub came to first, and what do you think 
was the first thing he said ? ” 

At this point Eeatherstonehaugh became convulsed with 
laughter. 

Cut on. Guppy ! Don’t go on giggling like that.” 

‘^I couldn’t help smiling. Well, the very first thing the young 
beggar said was — ^you won’t believe it 1 ” 

“ Do cut on, Gup ! ” 

‘ Why — didn’t — you — pull — me — out ? ’ Those were his very 
words. And he makes a grievance of it now. Why, you heard 
him at dinner yesterday ! ” 

And indeed it was true that Beppino had confessed to a belief 
that we all sat on the beach and smoked for aii hour or so while 
he was drowning. “No doubt he really thought so,” said 1. “Il- 
lusion — hallucination — delassement of the senses — all that sort of 
thing.” 

“ You and your delassmongs” said Guppy, with an accent show- 
ing his scorn of French language and literature. “ Why didn’t 
you have hallucinations? You were clear enough when you came 
to.” 


210 


JOSEPH VANCE 


But what did I say ? ” 

“What did you say?— ‘Is the child safe?' I think it was— 
or something of that sort." 

Then I remembered that as I caught sight of the slim form 
of the Cub afloat above me I thought to myself that it was actually 
the chubby voluble baby of ten years ago. And that if I failed to 
save him I could never look Lossie in the face again ! 

I wonder whether if Betsy Austin (who is dusting at this mo- 
ment) could be told the above story, would she find it possible to 
believe that the elderly studious quill-driving first-floor whom she 
despises, or afiects to despise, for his effeminacy and cowardly 
shrinking from draughts; his fussiness, or tendency to take excep- 
tion to raw mutton chops and under-boiled potatoes; and chief est 
of all his puerile attachment to the silly game of chess — could 
Betsy Austin believe that he once shot into those ripples on that 
errand, never knowing the way would be clear? Betsy has never 
seen the sea, and does not wish to, having a low opinion of it; 
but that rock-ledge could be explained to her, and the grizzly doubt 
whether it went down straight or turned in cave-wise would sug- 
gest itself even to Betsy. However, I will not interrupt the dust- 
ing to get her views. Her standard of dusting is as low as 
Wordsworth's standard of drunkenness; and if she gives a divided 
attention it will be worse still. 

But you, perhaps, will believe me when I say that even now I 
can almost hear the water in my ears of thirty-five years ago. 
And again I dive down, down, down, and then turn over and see 
my quarry above me, and it gives the slightest jerk as I seize it, 
and then is still. And then I use my last force to save it, and 
all is darkness. 

I have seen that rock since, for I found it when I visited Lyn- 
mouth a year ago. It was unchanged after three decades, and 
seemed quite content that the ocean wash should still lisp and 
ripple against it as it did then. There was a merry party of boys 
bathing from it; and one of them, to whom I tallied about the 
dangers of this coast, told me how the old coastguard, up at the 
flagstaff over there, had told him a story of how a boy had got 
under this very rock, and a chap had jumped in and got him out. 
But he added that it was an orfully long time ago, and seemed to 
think this a very extenuating circumstance. 


CHAPTER XXV 


HOW JOE WOULD HAVE TAKEN A BETTER DEGREE BUT FOR CHESS. HOW 
HE PATENTED HIS SPHERICAL ENGINE. HIS DIFFICULTIES WITH THE 
BRITISH ENGINEER. OF PIOW HE IS CHEATED AND HIS FATHER COMES 
TO THE RESCUE. 

I WROTE the last chapter for the sake of the bathing incident, 
and without any intention of showing that my application to 
reading was lessened at this date. But when I re-read it myself 
I see between the lines that this was the case, and that Lossie’s 
misgivings were not without foundation. I did not become idle. 
But a powerful unconscious stimulus was removed — a stimulus 
that I myself had never realized or understood. 

When a runner resolves to do his best in the race, the impulse 
of his first resolution lasts him to the end. His effort is auto- 
matic, and its uniformity will not be interrupted. A course of 
study to end in Academical honours is quite another thing; and 
effort may either he intensified by the introduction of a new 
motive, or chilled by the removal of an old one. Concurrent cir- 
cumstance has its say in the matter. This is prosy, but true. 

When I first became the proud possessor of my New Exercise 
Books at Penguin^s I registered a vow of strenuous effort for Miss 
Lossie^s sake, and the vow remained a fundamental part of my 
existence, without need of re-registration as long as its cause 
formed part of my existence too. But the cause had been tam- 
pered with, and though it still remained, its nature had been 
altered in some sense I had never regarded as possible, never hav- 
ing investigated its possibilities of change. I was not unlike the 
tree that blooms to the full until one day its tap-roots strike a 
new stratum. I was a seedling that, knowing no nourishment 
but one, did not even know it was nourishment until it was with- 
drawn. 

I did not become idle. That was not in the nature of the 
animal. But I found out that my desire for distinction was a 
very shadowy one when left to itself; and although it was still 
actuated by Lossie from afar, it was not the same thing as having 
her close at hand. I began to neglect studies that I only cared 

23J. 


212 


JOSEPH VANCE 


for as a means to an end — the end being Honours. I might 
parody Crabbe and say that gradual each day I loved my Classics 
less, my Physics more; and I might even finish as in the original, 
that I learned to play at Chess. I did, and I really think Chess 
had as much to do as anything with the lowness of the place I 
took in Honours. It was a respectable place, but no more. So 
I shan’t tell you what it was. You must look in the lists 
for ’62. 

Poor Lossie! She was sadly cut up about it, blaming herself 
and exculpating me. I have her letter still in which she says that 
she was sure it would all have been different if things had only 
gone on just as they were two years ago. The change was all her 
selfishness. But then,” she adds, what would have become of 
Hugh if I had not married him?” My other self, who was 
scotched but not killed, said unfeelingly that that was no concern 
of his. There was a second letter in her envelope, from the Gen- 
eral, and when I read it to him it made that young man feel 
horribly ashamed of himself : “ Lossie tells me,” he wrote, that I 
ought to condole with you for getting down on the list as low as 
a place which I should have been only too proud to see a real 
brother of mine — get up to. So don’t expect any commiseration 
at this shop ! I’ve been trying to cheer her up about it, by telling 
her my real opinions about competitive examinations of all sorts. 
I hate them myself as much as I hate War. But one has to face 
.both. What would become of Army Contractors without War, 
and Coaches without examinations ? ” 

However, I was perfectly conscious that I could have scored 
much better if I had let the Spherical Engine alone, and dis- 
carded chess-boards altogether, instead of merely when playing 
Chess. One shouldn’t play without a board when one has an 
Exam, next day, unless it’s in Divinity or something of that sort. 
I was aware that I had not done myself justice, and my vanity got 
some consolation. But I was destined to humiliation, for, coming 
up to London after the fight was over, I sauntered into Simpson’s 
chess-rooms and lost game after game against professional hands 
at the rate of two-and-sixpence each. Indeed, I only succeeded in 
drawing once, and then I suspect it was because my opponent took 
too much brandy and soda. This opponent, however, told me a 
story that acted as a wholesome warning. I happened to speak of 
the University and my recent degree, and he remarked with a 
sigh that there had been a time when he too was a promising 
young man, at Cambridge, for whom his backers predicted a high 
Wranglership. But I failed,” said he, << and all because of this 


JOSEPH VANCE 


213 


confounded game! I got involved in it, and couldn^t get free. 
I might have been a useful member of Society — an actuary or an 
average-stater or something of that sort, and here I am, a profes- 
sional Chess-player, with nothing to boast of better than that 
Steinitz cannot give me a Knight ! ” I laid the warning to heart, 
and said check to all my chessmen. 

But I was not minded to say good-bye to the Spherical Engine. 
Have you never when in trouble felt a relief in some form of 
employment that precludes thought on any other? Mechanics do 
this, just as much as Collecting, or Cricket, or Fishing. My 
reciprocating movement was an absorbing delight, and all that 
seemed to be wanting for perfect happiness was to see it recipro- 
cate. The more effectively an Engine reciprocates in the brain 
of its inventor, the more irritated that inventor becomes at not 
seeing it externalized and fulfilling its destiny. As my Father 
was always ready to supply me with money, and as I had no 
scruple in asking him for it as an Endowment of Besearch, I 
devoted myself to development and construction. I alleged for 
the deception of all concerned, myself included, that I only did 
this while I was looking round and making choice of a profession. 
As I never took my eyes off cams and levers and journals and 
condensers and so forth except at meal-times or in bed, the fields I 
explored in this search were not extensive. But I must have been 
persuaded that it was genuine, for when I registered my first 
Provisional at the Patent Office I flattered myself that by the 
time it became necessary to complete the Patent, the Engine would 
be reciprocating and developing cumulative energy (I think that 
was what it was to do) and the profession would be chosen, and 
all honest demands and aspirations satisfied. How innocent I was 
of any suspicion of my own ignorance! I have since learned 
much of the difficulties in the path of the Inventor. I am afraid 
I fancied construction would be as easy as Patenting. 

However, sufficient for the day was the evil thereof ; and having 
registered this Provisional Specification, I had nine whole months 
before me in which to construct a Spherical Engine, and to look 
about me for a profession. As I have hinted above, I thought 
I was going to have an easy time, and I hadn’t. 

You can lead a horse to the water, but you cannot make him 
drink. The first Practical Men I applied to, on stepping out of 
the region of drawing and mere theory, were deeply imbued with 
the spirit of my old friend Porky Owls, and bristled with stubborn 
resistance to the reception of new ideas, or any ideas. As they 
were all exactly alike, one example will do for the lot. Messrs. 


214 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Ratchett & Paul, for whom my Father had built their great Iron 
Foundry and Engineer’s Shops, had examined my drawings and 
pronounced them very ingenious and practicable (they were 
owing C. Vance & Co. a large balance), but excused themselves 
from undertaking them as not quite in their line. They intro- 
duced me to McGaskin & Flack, who were special in the construc- 
tion of models, and would give an overpowering amount of con- 
centrated attention to this one. 

‘Tf you’ll take the advice of a practical man, Mr. Vance, ye’ll 
give up the idea,” said Mr. McGaskin, after glancing slightly at 
the drawings. 

‘‘I daresay the whole thing’s impracticable for some technical 
reason I in my ignorance know nothing about,” said L ‘^But 
<;ouldn’t you indicate the nature of it that I might be able cor- 
rect it.” 

wadna tak’ upon mysel’ to eendicate the nature of anything, 
wi’out a verra close exameenation.” 

It would have been rude to say, Then why the Devil don’t you 
make one?” So I said instead that I would leave the drawings 
and return when Mr. McGaskin had had more time to examine 
them. 

I couldna condescend on any parteecular defect,” was that 
gentleman’s remark when I returned a week after. “ But if ye’ll 
tak’ my advice ye’ll give up the idea.” 

I won’t take your advice, Mr. McGaskin. And if I take the 
drawings away I shall only go to some one else — so you may as 
well accept the job.” 

‘^A wilful chiel maun hae his wull,” said he. But he rang a 
bell, which procured a boy who undertook to tell Callaghan to 
send Bring. 

When Pring came he stood at bay at once. ‘‘You’ll never make 
that work,” said he. He really can hardly be said to have looked 
at the drawings. 

“ Aweel, Preeng, this gentleman’s a graiduate o’ the TJnivairsitee 
of Oxford, and ye’ll try to give him every satisfaction. Ye’ll no 
be takkin’ any responsibeelitee, ye ken ! ” 

“ I’ll do my best, Sir. But it won’t work ! ” 

Bring had a conviction that the really essential point was that 
he should be satisfied of the final success of the Engine. Also he 
wished everything to act the other way round, to add a sixteenth 
to the diameters of most things, and substitute steel for iron, 
iron for steel, gun-metal for brass, and anti-friction metal for 
gun-metal. He declined to put faith in calculation, and went so 


JOSEPH VANCE 


215 


far as to say that figures were misleading, and that if Tredgold 
(for instance) had been a practical man, he would have held the 
same opinion. I soon found that he meant, by a practical man, a 
man who was ignorant of the same theoretical points as himself. 
If Porky Owls had been there too, I should have been crushed 
under their united weights. Against Pring alone I stood firm. 
Indeed, Pring was at best only a weak-kneed example of a Porky, 
as he endeavoured to justify his ipse dixit by argument, which 
Porky never did. Perhaps he himself would not have done so had 
he taken less beer. 

When I referred points in dispute to Mr. McGaskin, he said 
that “aiblins Preeng was a fule after all ! ” But in his heart he 
evidently thought that it was my Unpractical character. 

However, I was paying the piper, and the pipePs account ought 
to have contained such items as To turning up three feet of best 
shafting three-sixteenths too small and polishing same according^ 
to nobody’s instructions. Time and Materials so much,” or “ To 
providing gun-metal bearings and drilling out wrong. Providing 
bushes for same, to correct diam. Time and Materials so much,” 
or To arguing with you during partial intoxication. Foreman’s 
time at 2/ per hour so much.” The last item should have been a 
heavy one. 

However, I myself raised no objection to McGaskin & Flack’s 
charges, being deeply absorbed in the joys of construction; and the 
months slipped by rapidly, and would have become years, if an 
exorbitant statement had not attracted my Father’s attention and 
given rise to an incident which gave me more insight into his 
success than I had ever had before. For his curiosity having been 
excited by the copious totals, he smoked reflectively for a long 
time over one, and then threw it across his table to Hickman, the 
clerk or secretary I had assisted in establishing, and who had 
proved a most efficient help for two years past. ^^You run your 
eye through that, James,” said my Father; “I don’t understand 
this sort o’ thing myself.” I did not catch what the reply was, as 
I was at the other end of the room, but it was something my 
Father said he thought so ” to. 

As we sat at dinner that night — for I continued to live with 
him, and indeed spent most of my evenings at home — ^he remarked 
that he should be driving the two grey prads round by my Engi- 
neerin’ works and he would call in and see Mr. Baxter. 

I know him’’ said he — “ he’s that pink sort of a carackter with 
no eyelashes — what’s the name of those little beggars that come 
out o’ rat-catchers’ pockets and go sniffin’ round?” I said fer- 


216 


JOSEPH VANCE 


rets. " Well, this here Baxter’s like them. Ever seen the daugh- 
ter?” No, I hadn’t. ‘‘Well, just you see the daughter. Tell ’im 
to ask you to dinner.” 

I thought it would be bad feeling to ask to be asked to dinner 
to see a daughter of a ferret, with a view, as I inferred, to derid- 
ing her peculiarities. So I left that point alone, and only made a 
slight effort to get the Engineer named correctly. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE FERRET IS BIBULOUS. HOW JOE WENT TO PLAT CROQUET WITH HIS 
DAUGHTER. OP HER GLORIOUS BEAUTY AND ITS EFFECT ON ONE OF 
joe’s INDIVIDUALITIES. HE TALKS TO A FLAT JANE. OP A GUST OF 
ABBOT ANSELM, AND JOE's MEETING y^LTB. AN OLD FOE, WHO ISi 
FIANCE TO THE FERRET’s DAUGHTER. JANE IS SOMEBODY TOO. HE 
GOES HOME LINKED WITH HIS FOE. 

Next morning the two grey prads awaited us at the door, and 
talked to each other about the flies. “ They do to pull me about ! ” 
said my Father, speaking as a poor old man whose sorrows had 
to be pitied. “Leave go of their heads and jump up behind.” 
And Pips, the groomlet, did as he was bid, and we went off in 
style. 

The ferret was in his office, and abased himself before my 
Father’s ample presence, his extensive black cloth, his cashmere 
yellow scarf and his bandana handkerchief, but especially before the 
glory of his Hat, that sacred Emblem of Perfect Solvency, which 
my Father left on his head for Public Worship until he came to 
anchor in the Office, when he showed his contempt for mere ex- 
ternals by putting it on the table with his bandana in it. 

“ ’Appy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Baxter,” said he. 
“Seen you afore, I fancy? Job down at Croydon! Or at Wool- 
wich was it — one or other on ’em ? ” These were the merest ohifer 
dicta, merely to make conversation. But Mr. McGaskin was far 
too conscientious a Scotchman to allow any one to glisser and 
n'appuyer pas. 

“ I couldna charge my memory just preceesely,” said he. “ But 
nae doot ye’ll be right.” 

“ I was drivin’ round in the trap into this neighbourhood and I 
gave my son a lift. ’E ’azn’t got too proud” — ^here my Father, 
who was getting very fat, rolled about as he subsided into his 
jocular manner — “to drive about with his pore old Daddy — ^hay, 
Nipper? Not yet a while at least.” 

“It’s airly yet, Mr. Vance,” said the ferret. “But ye’ll just 
taste a wee drop — ^ye won’t find better whiskey than I can offer 


218 


JOSEPH VANCE 


My Father threw into his face an expression of repudiation of 
whiskey, of disparagement of whiskey, of doubt of whiskey, in 
fact of very seldom touching it! Then he tapped himself three 
times in front, as though to refer to his interior as a weak point 
in common with all mankind, and said, as one who makes a con- 
cession, “ A taste.” 

I was sorry for the turn things had taken. But why had Mr. 
McGaskin never offered me whiskey ? I had been his visitor often 
enough in the Office. Was it the strange free-masonry that alwayi 
exists between people who are not me, on the subject of all con 
noisseurships — the same free-masonry that makes real men witl 
high stiff collars talk cigars over my head — nay, over my prostrate 
body? It absolutely never occurred to Mr. McGaskin to offer m». 
any this time, so completely was I outside the circle of Illuminati, 
To be sure, I anticipated him somewhat by saying I would gi. 
through into the shops, and did so, leaving him and my Eathei 
appreciating an aroma that I should not have known from any 
other nasty smell of spirits. 

“ ril just have a word o’ chat with Mr. Baxter, and then little 
Pips he’ll see me safe round to ’Aydon’s Lane and drive ’ome, 
and I’ll cab to the Station. About an aitch girder they’re keeping 
us waitin’ for,” added my Father by way of explanation to the 
gentleman he persisted in calling Mr. Baxter. 

I left them sympathizing over Goods Stations and their sins- 
The experience of both was that Goods Stations absorbed all 
consignments into their systems, never by any chance forwarding 
anything to its destination. 

When after a day of wrangling with Pring, and altering draw- 
ings to arrive at a modus vivendi, I rejoined my Father in the 
evening, he produced the statement of account of the previous day, 
covered with corrections in red ink. 

‘‘Three pound six and four by corrections, and two-and-a-half 
per cent, for cash settlement,” said he. “ You mustn’t allow Bax- 
ter to ’ector over you, Nipper! He’s been charging you through 
the nose all along. You send him round to me — I’U square him 
up ’ansum ! ” 

“ I hope he’s not offended,” said I. 

“Not he! Pass the cayenne.”— My Father pronounced this 
word as if it consisted of two letters only. — “This blooming fish 
tastes like the napking — tastes of cold water. What’s to offend 
him, Joey boy? It does ’em good to docket ’em down. You’ll see 
he’ll ask you to dinner — you’ll see the daughter.” 

I took BO little interest in the daughter of the ferret, that I 


JOSEPH VANCE 


219 


didn’t even enquire liow my Father knew anything about her. 
The invitation to dinner came , sure enough, and I respected my 
Father’s acumen more than ever. Of course I accepted, with the 
addition, made when I saw Mr. McGaskin next morning, that if I 
came up to Circus Eoad, St. John’s Wood, earlier, I should find 
tea and strawberries on the lawn and a geem of Crawky, if I cared 
for Crawky. 

In the early sixties Croquet flourished — not with its first char- 
acter of a blinding, maddening, absorbing, distracting, ruinous 
mania, perhaps — but still it flourished and was to me an acceptable 
diversion. So I appeared as bidden at the ferret’s house, which he 
had christened Ronaldsay, and was shown through a long green- 
house passage with shrubs in tubs; and eluding the beak of a 
sulphur-crested Cockatoo upside down, arrived uninjured in the 
garden and was welcomed by a young lady with the most beautiful 
deep auburn hair I had ever seen, and a complexion like a Titian. 
My other-self young man felt like being impressionne; but I 
snubbed him abruptly, and felt keenly for poor Miss McGaskin, 
to whom I thought the contrast would really be painful. How- 
ever, I reflected on what I was by this time beginning to learn, the 
attraction of contrasts, especially among girls. I was taken aback 
— only I hope I didn’t show it — ^when she presented me to a lady, 
who came out from the drawing-room, as Mr. Joseph Vance, 
Mamma, and the lady said she saw I had already made acquaint- 
ance with Miss McGaskin. Different people, different ways! — 
However, she called her Jeannie when she spoke to her. 

I suspected my Father at once. And my second self very nearly 
fell into the trap — in fact, in the course of an hour or so of 
Croquet he became quite restive. He was inclined to be jealous 
of Tom, Phil, and Mr. Mac-something whose name I did not 
catch, all of whom came in to play Croquet. I did not wonder at 
him, for really the brown-gold hair in the sun was too overwhelm- 
ing; unconditional surrender was evidently the condition of the 
three other young fellows. But I had never felt the double per- 
sonality so strong since the dreadful week of half-fever at Oxford. 
I am sorry I have no less cumbrous way of writing of it, as it 
has formed so great a part of my existence. I might certainly 
speak of myself as Z, and the other young man as Joe Vance. 
Suppose I try that way, and see how it works. 

I was so angry with Joe Vance, then, for his susceptibility to 
this beautiful Jeannie, and indeed so piqued with poor Jeannie 
herself for trying to plant her image in my secret garden where I 
cultivated Lossie’s, that I collared Joe, and compelled him to talk 


220 


JOSEPH VANCE 


to another girl who was playing, named Jane; who was, I thought, 
not the least likely to provoke any tender passions on anybody’s 
part. I inventoried her in my mind as a really very nice girl that 
I could be friends with, and allow Joe Vance to play with, with- 
out fear of consequences. I told him distinctly that I was not 
going to tolerate any foolery. But more than once I caught his 
eye sneaking round under the attraction of the lovely vision, and 
had to call his attention to the rather high forehead and smooth 
brown hair and amiable hazel eyes of the really nice girl who 
could be recommended as innocuous to the single. 

I wonder what these two girls would have really thought of me 
(or us), if they had known! What would Jeannie have felt for the 
Joe Vance who must needs presume to get in a flutter about her 
beauty almost before making acquaintance? Scarcely respect — 
probably silly hoy would have been the verdict. And what would 
Jane have thought of me for deciding that no Joe Vance would 
fall in love with her, at any rate? 

“Isn’t she absolutely lovely?” said Jane, dropping her voice 
confidentially. I had been introduced to Jane, by Jeannie, who, 
forgetting my name at the moment, presented me as Mr., and her 
as Jane. She never mentioned her other name, as just at the 
moment her own hair got tangled in a wandering briar. Tom or 
Phil, being close by, offered rescue, and (as I thought on purpose) 
unsettled some tackle that restrained the masses of gold. Down 
came the hair, and Jane was in requisition to stick it up again. 
She succeeded — though it came down again two minutes after. 
But I didn’t get Jane’s name. The Croquet proceeded. 

“Just look at her now, with her face in the shadow and the 
Bun all through her hair. I declare she’s croquet’d me to the 
end of the lawn! It’s you next — you must get me back again, or 
I shall never be through my hoops.” 

“ It isn’t my turn next, it’s And I didn’t know the name of 

our partner, so I left him nameless. 

“Mr. Macallister? Oh dear, there he goes! She’s croquet’d 
him too.” And so she had, and then she went through two hoops, 
taking her partners Tom and Phil with her, and put them both 
out, and then, missing the post herself, in a paroxysm of excite- 
ment brought all the beautiful hair down again, as aforesaid. 
And then she and Jane went in to do it up properly. 

But a light had broken on me ! Now I knew why Prior Anselm 
had mixed himself unbidden in the croquet — ^he had been doing so 
all along, and I was such an idiot that I had not found out the 
reason. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


221 


“ Ton don’t know me, old chap ! ” said I, and Bony Macallister 
withdrew his eyes from a first-floor bedroom looking-glass back, 
visible through an open window, and turned round to see if he 
did. The warmth of the greeting that followed was such as only 
two boys who had nearly killed each other in old days could have 
compassed. 

“Why, you’re intimate friends then,” called out a soft Scotch 
accent from beyond the looking-glass, and I thought I heard Jane 
say sit quiet or it would all come undone again. 

“ Well, you see, we were once such intimate enemies!” said Bony. 
“ Come down and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Whereupon Jeannie came down all curiosity, and Jane along 
with her. And the Homeric tale was told. And Jeannie said 
that we were all old friends then, and we needn’t be stiff any 
longer, and called Mr. Macallister Archie and slipped her arm 
through his. And then naturally another light broke on me. 
It had this curious effect, that I had no further trouble with Joe 
Vance and his susceptibility to Jeannie’s beauty. He was as 
undisguisedly glad as I was about her manifest relation to Bony 
Macallister. And Jeannie took upon herself to perceive that 
doubts had to be cleared up, and did it in this wise — 

“Noo, Janie,” she said, with the very slight Scotch accent — so 
slight that I won’t try to render it in spelling. “ You mustn’t go 
telling Mr. Vance that Archie and I are engaged, because we’re 
not.” 

“AU right. Miss McGaskin,” said I, “I won’t believe Miss — 
Miss ” 

“ Spencer,” said J eannie. 

“ Spencer,” said I, “ if she does tell me. But I am so glad 
about it, old fellow.” And I wrung his hand again, and Jeannie 
gave me hers to go on with. Then we went back to the lawn from 
which we had strayed into a bye-path — and found the two youths, 
Phil and Tom, having a game to themselves. They were cousins 
and evidently adored Jeannie, but not to the extent of loss of 
appetite or sleeplessness! 

“ And noo ye’ve foond your way to the hoose,” said McGaskin 
pere when he returned from his daily round of whiskey-sips and 
double entry, “ye’ll ken it weel anither time. It’s a wee bit oot 
’o’ the warld, but ye’ll no find better air, and ye can get on Hamp- 
stead Heath in twenty minutes.” 

“It only took me a quarter of an hour to drive down,” said 
Miss Spencer. But even then I didn’t put two and two together. 
I was always a slow-coach at this sort of thing. 


222 


JOSEPH VANCE 


However, later in the evening I found myself sitting beside 
Miss Spencer on a thing like an S in the back drawing-room while 
Jeannie was singing at the piano in the front one. 

Of course,” said she, “ they are really engaged, whatever 
Jeannie chooses to say. I wonder Mr. McGaskin never mentioned 
it.” 

He never said a word about it ! Why should he ? ” 

‘^How can you be so nonsensical, Mr. Vance? Only look at 
Jeannie! Do you suppose all men are adamant like you?” 

Fm not adamant,” said I, with a guilty feeling about Joe 
Vance’s recent attitude. On the contrary, if Miss McGaskin 
had kept a book I should have put my name down. I consider 
her quite irresistible, and I’m so glad about my old school- 
fellow.” 

“ I wonder Mr. McGaskin never mentioned it. But perhaps he 
is right. I know he won’t allow Jeannie to be really engaged, 
because, as he says, she’s very young and ought to have a good 
look round before she settles.” 

My dear, good old Daddy! How vividly I could now picture 
to myself the rest of that interview with the canny Mr. McGaskin 
over their abominable nectar! How my Father had heard tell 
that Miss Jeannie McGaskin was a screamer, and hers had ad- 
mitted that she was a comely lass aneuch, but had dwelt in Scotch 
on the anxiety lassies were to their parents. How my Father had 
then remarked that laddies, or their English equivalent, were the 
same sort o’ turn out, but he hoped his would steady down to a 
profession, but it didn’t do him any harm to look about a bit. 
And there were worse wild oats, as we knew, Mr. McGaskin 
(with his jocular roll), than making inventions. And after all, 
if he did spend a trifle it would all come off his own inheritance, 
and he had no brother or sister — and there would be plenty. And 
I felt, as I sat by Miss Spencer on the S-sofa, that one or both 
had then closed one eye to register worldly wisdom. And Jock o’ 
Ilazeldean came to an end in the next room, and got o’er the 
border and awa’, and I heard Archie say, “ Now Young Lochin- 
var,” and Jeannie plead for respite. Then I recalled myself to 
Society and answered Miss Spencer. 

“ She evidently has settled, and she won’t easily do better. I 
haven’t seen him till now for eight — nine — how many years 
past ? ” 

I tried to think. “Let me see! How long ago was it I went 
to stay for a fortnight at Bony’s Governor’s house in Perthshire? 
Why, I remembered telling Lossie I was going — of course I did ! — 


JOSEPH VANCE 223 

why, of course it was when we had that talk under the Pines on 
Hampst ” 

I don’t really think my thoughts carried me to the second 
syllable. I saw it now — I was sitting beside Sarita Spencer’s 
sister, the little girl Janey. How I never came to see it before I 
can’t imagine ! 

I was taken aback — but then it was the second surprise that day, 
and I was exhausted, so to speak! However, I didn’t see the 
occasion for an accolade, this time. So I merely said, “ Well, 
now — how very funny!” And Janey naturally asked what was 
very funny. 

Why, of course ! You’re Miss Sarita Spencer’s sister Grizzle. 
I came up to your house to see Lossie Thorpe — years and years 
ago — don’t you recollect? We played Pope Joan ” 

Jane turned a puzzled gaze on my face, backing slightly on her 
half of the S to make it good manners to stare, then vibrated her 
hands with a sort of wait-a-minute action, then brought them up 
over her eyes to think in, and said, “ Oh, stop, stop, stop ! I shall 
have it directly. 

“Now I know,” said she, in due course, “I remember it all! 
You’re Lossie Thorpe’s schoolboy that was to wait till she came. 
In the Library ” 

I remembered it all too. I remembered the hushed Library — the 
smell of the Books — the song of the bird — ^the little girl in the 
glass. And there she sate! 

“ Well, it is very funny, isn’t it ? Do tell me about your sister. 
You know about Loss — I mean Mrs. Desprez. She’s in India.” 

“ I ought to know about her ! Why, Sarry was her bridesmaid, 
and I was to have been one — only I couldn’t come back from 
Cheltenham. I thought it such a shame.” I agreed, — and re- 
peated my enquiry after Sarry. 

“ Oh, well — I have news to tell you there. Sarry’s going to be 
married herself ! ” 

I was just on the point of expressing intense surprise, when I 
luckily remembered manners, and began to say that I had ex- 
pected to hear that long ago, and then remembered that that would 
never do either. Also I remembered Sarry had been a bridesmaid 
and I had not seen her — ^nor any other bridesmaid — nor any maid 
of any sort except the brides for that matter. I blundered my 
felicitations somehow, and sought particulars. 

“ She’s going to Ceylon ! Mrs. Earquharson she’ll be. Mrs. 
Alison Earquharson. It will be so nice and near for Lossie Dee- 
prez.” 


224 


JOSEPH VANCE 


‘'About a thousand miles from Calcutta! — quite handy in case 
of illness or anything 

“ What a shame to laugh at me so ! ” said J aney, rather ruefully. 
And I apologized, saying I thought she had been laughing herself. 
We then embarked on a good steady voyage through reminisoeiices. 
IPs wonderful what discoveries people who really have no Very 
large supply in common will contrive to make if they turn to and 
rake up the past. It is so enjoyable to do so, and we enjoyed 
it. . . . 

“Well, you two have found plenty to talk about,” said the 
musical voice of Jeannie, “ and here’s Mamma has hardly had a 
chance to make Mr. Vance’s acquaintance. You’ll have to come 
another time to see more of us. Some evening when J ane Spencer 
isn’t here, Mr. Vance.” 

“Oh, very well, then! The sooner I go the better,” said Jane, 
and fled for her “ things.” 

“Ye’ll feex anither day for Mr. Vance to deener when ther6 
are no young leddies,” said Mr. McGaskin to his wife. And I 
thought his pleasantry vulgar, whereas I had thought that of his 
daughter graceful and charming. See the difference beauty 
makes ! 

Jeannie may not have been exactly under any binding arrange- 
ment to marry Bony Macallister, but they were left a much 
clearer fleld to say good-bye in than any others of the company 
had. Public leave-taking was in the Arcade of the cockatoo; and 
then Bony and I walked away down Circus Hoad in the moonlight 
— will you believe me? — ^with our arms over one another’s shoul- 
ders, like schoolboys. “ And how do you like my — my fancy 
girl?” said he, bursting out laughing. My answer was incon- 
secutive. 

“ Oh, Bony, dear fellow,” said I, with a half-breaking voice, 

^ “ she’s married and gone away to India with her husband.” And 
that was, so far as 1 can recollect, the nearest approach to con- 
fession about Lossie I had ever made to any human creature. You 
see, after pounding Bony nearly to a jelly on the subject, I felt 
concealment would be mere affectation. 

I had some difficulty in making him understand why I didn’t 
want to murder General Desprez. “ I should, in your place,” said 
he. “No — ^you wouldn’t,” said I. “You’ve no idea what a 
splendid fellow he is when you come to know him. He’s the most 
glorious chap! Besides, it’s no fault of his.” 

“I couldn’t feel it so myself, Vance,” said Bony. And Vance 
No. 2, in my inner citadel, who had quite given Jeannie up and 


JOSEPH VANCE 225 

was rather sorry he had been such an ass, murmured, “No more 
could I.” 

I believe a suspicion, on Bony^s part, that it was cruel to parade 
his own happiness, had more to do with our parting as early as 
2 A. M. than any desire of either to get home to bed. It was about 
then or a little later that we said good-bye on Waterloo Bridge, he 
going north, I south. His last communication referred to his 
Mother, who it seemed hated Jeannie, and who always blew up 
about his coming in late when she knew he had been at Circus 
Road. “ Hope I shan’t wake her up,” said he. “ Good-night, old 
fellow!” 

I walked home in the moonlight, and thought as my latch-key 
turned in the door that 1 should not wake my Mother. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


HOW joe’s father had been matchmaking, and how he exceeded 
HIS allowance, how good a daughter-in-law would be for 
HIM. JOE IS not in love WITH THE FLAT JANE. HOW HE WROTE 
WHO SHE WAS TO LOSSIE; A FOOLISH LETTER. OF THE SPHERICAL 
ENGINE. HOW HE MET FliAT JANE AGAIN AT THE FERRET’S. AND 
GOT DANGEROUSLY CONFIDENTIAL. 

I WAS very late next morning, naturally, and my Father was 
going round to the Works in a hurry, so I had no talk with him 
until the evening at dinner. 

“ You ain’t tellin’ me about the ’ansum gal, Nipper dear,” said 
he. You might tell your old Daddy somethin’ about your goin’s- 
on.” 

How did you come to know about Miss McGaskin, Dad ? ” I 
asked. 

“Let me see — ^how did I come to know about her? It must 
have been when I was talking to what’s-his-name — at the Foundry 
— churchyard sort of a name.” 

“ Paul ? ” I conjectured. And I think the guess did me credit. 
“Right you are, Nipper! Well, it was his Aunt or Step- 
mother-in-law, old Goody Scratchett, was turnin’ over young gals 
at ch’ice like for her nephew, and out she lets about a very en- 
gagin’ young lass — a regular plummy one to make your mouth 
water. And it don’t foller, says she, that a girl is pimply because 
her father is, nor yet one tooth a-stickin’ out in front. And then 
young Churchyard he says of course everybody knows Jeannie 
McGaskin — but she’s engaged 1 And the old Goody she says 

WaUcer, and engagements don’t count ” 

“Were they talking like that in Ratchett & Paul’s office in 
business hours ? ” said I. “ There can’t be much doing there.” 

“ Well — you see, the old cat happened in. And it was me set 
’em all off by remarking that I didn’t put much cash on any young 
man if he hadn’t got a gurl. So we had it all round up and down. 
What’s this here young beauty like to look at ? ” 

I hope I did Jeannie justice. I tried to. And my Father mur- 
mured occasionally that was my sort! 

226 


JOSEPH VANCE 


227 


‘‘But she is engaged. Dad — and really engaged.” 

“ Quite sure, J oey boy ? She ain’t married yet, anyhow ! And 
gals are gals.” My Father had got such a fixed idea (on no 
grounds whatever) of the desirability of Jeannie for his son, that 
it was cruel not to let him indulge it. But he remembered, when 
I told him, about Macallister, and the great turn-up, and appeared 
to consider that that altered the case. Nevertheless, he showed 
that his dear affectionate heart had built a little castle in the air 
for his son, in so short a time that he ought to have known as a 
professional man that it wouldn’t stand after removing the scaf- 
fold. He seemed distinctly dejected, and exceeded his allowance 
of whiskey. But then I am sorry to say he often did this, and the 
limit laid down was a mere tribute to Temperance en passant. As 
in the case of crops that are always below the average, statistics 
had lost caste and gone mouldy. Still, I used to try to hold him 
to the fiction of an allowance. It had had its origin when Bes- 
sie’s letter came from India in answer to mine, shortly after her 
departure. Miss Bessie’s quite right, J oey boy,” said he. 

We’ll make it an allowance and stick to it.” He called her Miss 
Bossie to the day of his death. 

What was so painful about this whiskey bane, and my Father’s 
constant effort to keep it under, was that at the end of every year 
he was visibly a very little worse than at the beginning, in spite 
of his having turned over a new leaf every six weeks or so. How- 
ever trenchant and decisive these reformations were, it seemed to 
come to the same thing in the end. It reminded me of the dread- 
ful year preceding my Mother’s death, when, however many times 
her cough was better than yesterday, it was always a little worse 
than last month. And however much she gained flesh, she always 
gTew thinner. I wondered in my heart at the influence Bossie 
had exercised — for from the day she wrote that letter about him to 
Sarita, till the champagne incident at her wedding, he had hardly 
sinned at all. And even now it was chiefly her influence by letter 
from India that produced these spasmodic reformations. 

I communed with myself a good deal (I discussed it with Joe 
Vance, so to speak) whether if I were married it would not act 
as a check on this propensity of my Father. Was it not possible 
that the great strength of Bossie’s influence lay in the fact of her 
being a woman, and was it certain another inferior woman (that 
is, another woman) would not do as well, or proportionately so? 
Joe Vance became a convert to this view, and pointed out to me 
that his trifling outbreak of susceptibility to Miss McGaskin 
showed at least that the question was still open. “ Can’t you look 


228 


JOSEPH VANCE 


about you, you booby,” said he, for some girl who will do equally 
well for me ? ” And he proceeded to give specifications. I noticed 
that he stipulated for a head of auburn hair, item two eyes a shade 
green, item two rows perfect teeth, item two white arms with 
ditto hands, filbert nails on same, item several other items circa 
sixty-seven inches long all told. And I replied to him, “ You 
vulgar-minded blockhead, can’t you see that you are not includ- 
ing either a heart or a mind in your specification, and if this Mrs. 
V. of yours has either it will be a gross unfaith to go on nursing 
my memory of Lossie, making disparaging comparisons, treating 
her in short as just a convenient helpmeet — a sop to the mechan- 
ical demands of life. While if she has neither, what good will 
she be as a whiskey check?” ^‘Well, then,” said Joe, “can’t you 
make a compromise? There are other sympathetic ties than those 
of the heart. Be content with a mind only, and only give a mind 
in return. Find a pleasant reasonable sensible companion — she 
and I shall get very fond of one another in time without being 
ever exactly in love; and she will exercise a most beneficent in- 
fluence in the home circle, and all that sort of thing.” 

Had I known all I know now about men and women I should 
have replied : “ Blasphemer ! How dare you suggest a profanation 
of the sacred name of Love? Do you not know that none can 
tamper safely with a plant whose roots are in the very depths of 
Nature, whose branches may shoot up into the highest Heaven! 
Shut up, short-sighted idiot! Either be silent, or if you insist 
on boring me with the suggestions of your own inexperience, don’t 
say what I know you have in contemplation, that I should do well 
to offer civility and friendship, coupled with the cares of a house- 
hold and possible children, to that very nice and amiable and 
sensible girl whom you positively refused to kiss on any terms, 
when neither she nor I had asked you to do so.” 

However, I was very inexperienced myself, rather childish in 
some ways ; so I let him run on, and he did in point of fact make 
me an offer of Jane Spencer then and there, taking for granted 
in the most impertinent way that she would be quite ready to 
order her trousseau. 

“I say, Joe,” said I, “you’re not letting her have her voice in 
the matter.” — “Are youV said he. 

I wasn’t hypocrite enough to make out that I was quite un- 
concerned about meeting Jane Spencer again, but I wasn’t alto- 
gether honest about it either. For I admitted that I shouldn’t 
mind having another look at her on high public grounds, such as 


JOSEPH VANCE 


229 


the possible benefit of my Father if I made a reasonable and pru- 
dent marriage, or the injustice of not letting her have another 
look at me if she wanted one. That she did so was an entirely 
gratuitous supposition on my part — ^merely the result of too much 
self-examination. I chose to shut my eyes tight to what may have 
been the real cause of there being any self-examination at all, the 
fact that when Jeannie broke up the S-sofa seance, I felt I could 
easily have borne another quarter of an hour. My vanity of 
course suggested that Jane also felt a little nipped in the bud. I 
think what the Chinese call the Feng-Shui of the sofa-back had a 
good deal to answer for. I have since then learned that if you 
want a young lady and gentleman not to think about each other, 
you will do well not to remark that both their names begin with 
the same letter, or that both their heads want brushing, or that 
both are standing on the same paving-stone. It is safer on the 
whole never to say hoth or neither to them. Now if an S-sofa 
could speak it would certainly say something beginning with one 
or other of these words. All the same, had I fallen out with Mr. 
McGaskin over the Spherical Engine, and never met Jane at his 
house again, I shouldn’t have given her another thought. And if 
I had seen her death in the papers I shouldn’t have felt called on 
to fret about it. Am I wrong in supposing that young men are 
very often ready to feel navres when they hear of the engagement 
elsewhere of girls whose death would scarcely move them? 

As it turned out, every day that passed made me less sensible 
of the advantages of a prudent marriage, and in about a week I 
had decided that I wouldn’t examine myself any more until I 
heard from Lossie in answer to a long letter I wrote her asking her 
advice. It contained a full and true confession of all my alarms 
and excursions on first seeing Jeannie, on which I laid a great 
deal of stress in order that Lossie should not fidget about having 
made me unhappy — supposing that she ever did so. I finished 
with the interview with Jane Spencer. I really thinlt that my 
broad and bold exaggeration gave as good a version of the facts 
as all the rhodomontade I have been inflicting on somebody un- 
known. You’ve no idea,” I wrote, what an extremely beautiful 
girl Miss McG. turned out to be in spite of her papa! And so 
jolly ! I was literally head over ears in love ” — and then followed 
an account of my recognition of Bony, and then how I had to 
give her up and wear the willow, and who do you suppose I con- 
soled myself with? Why, Grizzle! ! ! We got stuck on a sofa, 
and talked all the evening. She’s not half bad, considering ! ” I 
then went on, after more particulars of my recognition of Grizzlew 


230 


JOSEPH VANCE 


to ask Lossie whether she thought it was really necessary to 
married happiness to be romantically in love at first go-off. I 
never saw that this was the last question I ought to have 
asked ! 

All letter-writing takes a very early answer for granted. If the 
writer were always stopping to think how long he would have to 
pause for a reply, there would be an end of all free intercourse 
by post. I wrote to Lossie and resolved to be guided by her ad- 
vice. But it was over three months before her reply came. And 
in the meanwhile events travelled rapidly, second class. By this 
I mean that their journey was a sort of respectable middle-class 
business, not the triumphal progress of well-to-do occurrences such 
as belong to a perfectly whole-hearted courtship. How fast they 
travelled may be inferred from the fact that when Pheener 
brought Lossie’s letter with others into the sitting-room at my 
Bather’s, she thought it considerate to knock. And indeed it was 
perfectly true that I withdrew to the other end of the sofa on 
which Jane Spencer and I were sitting, to call out Come in!” 
If this were a real story for publication, this way of telling it 
would spoil it. But I am so ashamed of the confession I have to 
make, that I don’t much care how I make it. 

For, you see, I ^^got engaged” to Jane Spencer without really 
caring much about her. I cared something for her of course. I 
cared enough for her to be very much concerned about her future 
happiness; to swear to myself again and again that come what 
might no power should ever wring from me an admission of — of 
something about my own feelings towards poor Jane that I did 
not care to think aloud about. Besides, it would have been just 
the same about any other girl! Even if it had been Jeannie 
McGaskin, I added — And oh me! I never saw, in that word 
“even.” the revelation it conveyed of the degree of my injustice to 
Jane Spencer. 

After posting my letter to Lossie I fairly forgot all about 
Jeannie and Janey, all about my Father’s whiskey peril, all about 
everything, in short, except the fascinations of the reciprocating 
movement that was just going to reciprocate, and the cumulative 
energy that was just going to be developed. As the Engine ap- 
proached completion, Bring began casting about for a new Plat- 
form from which he might proclaim to the Universe the large 
share he had had in its inauguration, the care and watchfulness 
with which he had averted disaster during its construction, and 
the gracious influence he proposed to exercise on its maturity. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


231 


“ I’m going to see this job safe through,” said he. Had my eye 
on it ever since we first got the idear, and I ain’t the man to take 
it off now.” He laid claim to having suggested a course of in- 
vention to my inexperience, and nourished originality in the soil 
of an infant mind which but for his care would have lain fallow. 

The construction of the Spherical Engine may be said to have 
gone smoothly. It might have gone even smoother, if it had not 
been blocked by resolute opposition on Pring’s part, and thwarted 
by his dexterous evasions. Tireless effort and unflinching single- 
ness of purpose on my side were victorious in the end; and the 
nearest approach to a belief in his own fallibility was produced in 
Pring’s mind, when the steam was put on, and, after a snort of 
doubt about its own efficacy, followed by an unwarrantable buoy- 
ancy, the great machine began to reciprocate, just at the moment 
when Pring uttered his last prediction of unqualified disaster. 
He showed himself a true disciple of Porky Owls at this point, for 
he retracted nothing, and showed a tendency to denounce success 
as merely a form of failure. “ It’s follerin’ on what you might 
expect,” said he, vaguely. But it don’t do to drore any con- 
clusions on that. Results are what we go by.” Pring thus 
reserved for himself an indefinite future, in which he might settle 
down comfortably and await the fulfilment of his prophecies. 

The Engine became so violently excited owing to its not being 
yet fitted with a governor that it had to be stopped. Congratula- 
tions followed, subject to reserves, and then Mr. McGaskin asked 
the inventor to dinner. “ And that ye maunna be dool, Mr. 
Vance,” said he, “Jeannie shall ask a lassie for ye. I canna 
promise ye Miss Spencer. But there’s aye a gude collection roond 
aboot, and she’ll do ye justice.” Could I in decency say less than 
that I hoped Miss Spencer would be achieved. I then concealed 
from myself the fact that I did so hope, lukewarmly, by remark- 
ing that she was quite an old friend. It brought a Platonic chill 
in, and I felt safer from misconception. 

had such a fright, Mr. Vance,” said Jeannie, whose accent 
I continue to fight shy of spelling— it was so very silvery and 
tender. ^‘We thought we shouldn’t get Janey Spencer! But I 
made Archie go up to Hampstead and tell her you were coming 
and come she must. There she is ! ” But it wasn t Janey. It 
was Archie back without her. He had left a note, in the hope that 
at any rate she would come after dinner. 

Seven was dinner-time in the sixties; at Circus Road at least. 
And at half -past seven Mr. McGaskin thought it was time to stop 
waiting any longer. Ye’ll have to geeve her up, Jeannie,” said 


232 


JOSEPH VANCE 


he — and the family, Archie and myself, and two casuals all gav« 
her up. Joe No. 2 accused me of being disappointed ; and I 
denied it. But just as we prepared to go, wheels stopped at the 

gate and Jeannie said, There now ! there she is after all ” 

This was correct; and a pause was conceded, to allow of showing 
into the drawing-room and starting fair. 

I had been a little afraid that Janey might prove dowdy on 
re-inspection, and felt distinctly better when, on coming into the 
room at the fag-end of a turmoil of recent haste, slightly flushed 
and explaining that she would have been earlier only she wasnT 
able to find her corals, she really did look quite nice — almost 
pretty. Joe Vance No. 2 expressed so much satisfaction at this, 
that I was fain to remind him that neither his opinion nor mine 
had been asked for. 

‘‘Is that Mr. Vance again?’’ said Janey. “I’m afraid we used 
up all our reminiscences last time. We shall have to talk about 
the Eoyal Academy.” — In those days people used to do so, even 
after the Exhibition was over, as was the case now. Eor we had 
got well on towards Christmas. 

Jeannie said she was sick and tired of Archie, and was going to 
have me for a change, and took me down to dinner accordingly. 
Archie took down the she-casual, and Miss Spencer our host. 
The he-casual and Mrs. McGaskin might have been forgotten and 
left upstairs, for any interest felt in either by the rest of the 
company. But they showed independence . of character ^and canae 
downstairs together on their own account. 

As all hosts know but too well, four males and four females 
cannot sit alternately at table with the host and hostess at each 
end. As soon as, after the usual wrangle, we submitted to Jeannie 
sitting next to her mother and Archie next to the he-casual, I 
found myself between Jeannie and Janey and quite unable to 
see either without looking round. I made some remark about the 
great advantages a parrot would have in this respect. “ Only he 
wouldn’t be able to use his knife and fork,” said Jeannie. And 
then that wicked young minx went on to improve the occasion. 

“I tell you what would be a lot better,” said she. “Have a 
long S-sofa and a table on each side. I mean a sofa like Janey 
and Mr. Vance’s sofa upstairs.” 

“Oh, how kind you are, Jeannie dear,” said Janey. “Do you 
hear that, Mr. Vance? That’s our sofa — Jeannie’s made us a 
present of it.” I was very glad of the promptitude of this piece 
of intrepidity, as if a murmur of remonstrance from Mrs. Grundy, 
had come off it would have been embarrassing. As it was, laugh- 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


233 


ter prevented my catching the exact drift of some further chaff of 
Jeannie’s, but it turned on there being another similar sofa up- 
stairs with ‘‘ the wiggle ” the other way round. You look a deal 
better on this side/^ said the incorrigible one, in an undertone 
across me. And if you work out the problem you will find that a 
true S-sofa shows its occupants’ right-hand sides to each other, and 
that I was now on Janey’s left. Of course I looked round, to 
confirm or contradict, and found Jane had no mark visible this 
way round. Instantly Jeannie pounced on me with There, you 
see, Mr. Vance thinks so too! ” 

It^s wonderful what latitude is allowed to a spoiled beauty. 
Nobody checked Miss McGaskin’s fiow of high spirits at the mo- 
ment, though I think her Mother remonstrated afterwards. In 
fact. Bony told me some time later that Jeannie got an awful 
wigging about it, but defended herself on the score of my having 
introduced personality by my innocent remark about the Parrot. 
And, later still, revealed that Jeannie had admitted that her object 
had been ^‘just to bring them together, and give them a start.” 
She certainly was the most nefarious young woman I have ever 
known, before or since. Short of insulating Miss Spencer and 
myself, and pointing at us, she did everything that could be done 
to make us feel uncomfortable. The truth was her inartificial 
nature disqualified her for matchmaking. She was far too frank 
and direct. When you wish to develop a flirtation rapidly, you 
will do unwisely to segregate your two quarries from the rest 
of the company and then go a little way off yourself and count ten. 
This was apparently the school Jeannie had been brought up in, 
and she was a novice. In these matters delicacy is half the battle. 
The result was that there was a stiffness, and a tendency to mix 
in circles as far apart as possible. 

But when circles are at most a room’s length apart, stiffnesses 
are apt to die a natural death. This one came to an end owing 
to its subjects, victims, or proprietors (who were, I suppose, seek- 
ing other circles to mix in) happening across each other just be- 
hind the second S-sofa with the wiggle the other way. I caught 
Janey^s eyes, and we both burst out laughing. The position 
was too ridiculous, and there was nothing for it but to try this 
one. 

^‘You know we’re to have whichever we like best, Mr. Vance,” 
said my companion. Of course she was a good deal more self- 
possessed over this little incident than I was. “You mustn’t 
mind Jeannie’s chaff, Mr. Vance. After all, she’s little more than 
a child — only eighteen when all’s said and done!” 


234 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“ I thought you were about the same age.” 

Oh dear, no ! years older. You can guess my age from 
Sarita’s.” 

I icnow. You’re seven years younger than she is. You always 
were. So you’re six years younger than Mrs. Desprez. You’re 
exactly my age ” 

“ It’s quite a coincidence. But then I was your age when you 
came to Plampstead all that long time ago, and I must have kept 
so all along.” 

It was compulsory on both. I say, Miss Spencer ! ” 

“What do you say, Mr. Vance?” 

“I should like to come and see you in the Library again. It 
would be so funny! Just thinly what a long time it is! ” 

“Do come. Papa would be so glad to see you. Mr. Oliver 
Thorpe is in Papa’s Office — ^you know, of course! — and we’ll ask 
him to come too. I’ll send you a note. Have you any particular 
days you are engaged ? ” 

No, I hadn’t. So that was all plain sailing. “ And now,” said 
Miss Spencer, “we can go and talk about the Academy. How 
flat you look, Mr. Vance! What’s that for?” 

Joe No. 2 muttered under his breath that this girl was a sharp 
girl. I told him I found her nice and bracing, and that I should 
take a leaf out of her book and say exactly what I thought. He 
might shut up. 

“Because I don’t want to talk about the Koyal Academy. I 
want to go on where we left ofl.” 

“Where did we leave ofl? Oh, at exactly the same age! — ■ 
Jeannie isn’t there, is she?” 

“ Oh no! She’s a mile ofl. Never mind Jeannie! ” 

“ I wasn’t thinking of that ! However, of course she does twist 
things round to stufl and nonsense. No! I meant that I was old 
enough to be Jeannie’s mother, nearly! ” 

“Another ten years would do it. Just about as long as from 
when I saw you in the Library at Hampstead 

“It seems a lifetime — of course, it has been half of mine — 
and yours.” I liked those hazel eyes when they looked grave 
over the lapse of time. “ Shall we have another fifteen, I won- 
der?” 

I wondered. Then Jane Spencer kept on looking grave, and I 
began to be afraid our conversation was going to spoil — they are 
sensitive things, conversations! But it didn’t, for my companion 
suddenly brought together the dispersing rivulets of chat, and 
made them flow in a steady stream. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


235 


Shall I tell you what I should like ? Only you mustnH think 
my inquisitiveness ” 

“ Of course I won’t ! What is it ? ” 

“I should like if you would tell me something about all those 
ten years.” 

Neither I nor Joe No. 2 could object to this, for we were both 
human, and liked talking about ourselves. So I told about St. 
Withold, and about Balliol, all in a very bald way, till I came to 
recent things, and then I found my narrative lingering for no 
particular reason over the reading party in Devonshire. “ Isn’t 
Lynmouth a very dangerous bathing coast ? ” said Miss Spencer. I 
replied that it was “ not worse than others. One of us was nearly 
drowned though.” — I forgot that I was nearly drowned myself as 
well as Master Joey. I saw the hazel eyes, which were very ex- 
pressive (I began to notice), fixed on me with an added interest, 
which I misinterpreted. 

“I know, Miss Spencer, you think I’m sticking over all this 
because I’m ashamed to tell you what a bad place I took in 

Honours ” She made no reply, but left her eyes considering 

me, while her fingers did and undid some clasp or buckle at her 
waist. I went on: 

“ Of course I was bound to do well in Science because that’s my 
line, but in Classics I didn’t come up to what was expected of me.” 

“You pulled him out of the water,” said Janey, with sudden 
inconsecutiveness. 

“ Who? Little Joey. Oh yes! I was lucky and got hold of him. 
But we all dived. Carvalho dived three times. Who told you 
about that turn-out ? ” 

Why, his brother of course ! He often comes to spend the 
evening at Hampstead. He said you were nearly drowned. I had 
forgotten it till you reminded me.” 

“And I had forgotten all about Nolly. Of course you know 
him quite well. I’m such a slow coach. But what was I saying? 
Oh, about the Degree ! You know I was awfully cut up about it — 
because Loss — that’s Mrs. Desprez, you know — ^had set her heart 
on my doing well.” 

“ You and she have always been ” 

“Yes. Since I was eight. But I don’t know that brother and 
sister describes it. Because brothers are — brothers are ” 

“ I know, Mr. Vance, of course they are! I’ve no patience with 
brothers. But I never said brothers. What I was going to say 
was that her going away to India must have been a great blow 
to her friends.” 


23d 


JOSEPH VANCE 


was a great blow to me,” said I. 

At this point the conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Mc- 
Gaskin bringing me the he-casual for special communion. He 
had (I think) invented a corkscrew, and was certain I should be 
interested in it. I wanted to say Devil take your corkscrew ! ” 
but only thought it. To the outside world I hope I appeared ready 
to cherish that corkscrew as the apple of my eye. 

‘‘I’ll send you the note,” said Jane Spencer. 

But even as I execrated that corkscrew I was also inclined to 
quarrel with myself for not having patience to wait until Janey 
should ask me naturally to her father’s, of her own accord. She 
would have done so, and would have remained perfectly cool and 
detached; quite free from any responsibility; while I, as I walked 
home from Ronaldsay, was feeling that I had made a plunge — ^had 
implied an initiative from which I could not in honour retreat. 

If I had not had any attraction at all towards Janey I could 
have asked myself to Mr. Spencer’s, and felt that nothing was 
involved. It was because I felt a certain lukewarm entichement 
(was it so lukewarm, though? — consider that corkscrew) that I 
regarded my action as a pledge. If I had understood girls better 
— ^been more of a man of the world, as the phrase is — I should 
have looked at the matter quite differently. Is no halfway house 
between an Egotist and a Man-about-Town possible to the un- 
married mind? 

I felt all the while that I was doing wrong, to Janey at any 
rate, perhaps to myself, in cultivating what I believed then would 
always be a half-hearted attachment, in order that the sacred cult 
of Lossie in my innermost heart should not be tampered with. 
If I could have believed that such a feeble seedling of a passion 
could strike root and spread and gradually oust all other vegeta- 
tion, I should not have been so wrong. But the feeble seedling 
was to be allowed only a humble corner of the garden, in order 
that my great rose-tree in the centre should flourish undisturbed. 
And I had the hypocrisy to utilize my wishes for my Bather’s 
benefit, as a justification of what I knew must be a wrong to the 
person by whom that benefit was to be brought about. 

I had no doubt that all I claimed of marriage would be pro- 
vided, and I called it by a variety of plausible names — sympathetic 
companionship in all my aims and endeavours; friendship of a 
rare and choice nature not otherwise attainable; the constant 
solace of home life, community of interest, and so forth. But 
whether I talked to Joe Vance No. 2, or whether he talked to me, 
the word Love never came into our counsels. And I did not 


JOSEPH VANCE 


237 


discern in my exasperation against the inventor of the corkscrew 
any sufficient grounds for a comparison between the feelings I 
was allowing to entangle me with an amiable and really very 
agreeable girl, and the impulse which had made the small new 
soul of a dozen years ago fall prostrate before the vision that burst 
upon it, and utter, if it spoke at all, the one word Yours, and 
accept its future in silence. For my verdict, if you please, about 
Janey Spencer as I walked home was that she was, no doubt, an 
amiable and very agreeable girl. 


CHAPTEB XXVm 


JOE HEARS FROM FLAT JANE. HOW HIS FATHER SMELT A RAT. HOTT 
JOE SPENT AN EVENING AT FLAT JANe’s FATHER^S, AND TOOK A BOOK 
TO HER LATER. OF THE OLD LIBRARY. JANE GETS AT JOE. BUT 
SHE IS VERY NICE. SHE CLEARS JOE’s MIND UP GREATLY. JOE IS A 
FOOL — WHY NOT BE FRIENDS? HE TALKS WITH DR. THORPE, WHO 
RATHER LOVES JANE BY REPORT. JOE PERHAPS LOVES HER TOO, AND 
IS A FOOL AGAIN. 

Of course Nolly Thorpe was in the Office of Spencer, Aldridge, 
Aldridge, and Spencer, and nothing would have been more natural 
than for me to saunter in at Hampstead in his company. I cer- 
tainly was very slow about social points, for I had completely for- 
gotten the legal side of Nolly’s life, and regarded him merely as a 
cricketer, dormant or active according to the season. If I had 
been a real Man of the World, I should have seen that the point 
was of no importance, and understood that Janey would attach no 
weight to a young man of my age asking to become a visitor to her 
family. I, who have always regarded the slightest implication of 
a pledge as my Act and Deed, took quite another view, and held 
that I had done something I was bound to “ follow up.” 

What a tight fit Life would be if all its obligations were laid 
down by extremely conscientious young men! 

The little note promised came in due course. It got burned 
later, but I can remember it word for word. Here it is: 

The Limes, Frognall, Hampstead, 

“ Nov. 18, 1863. 

** Dear Mr. Vance: Would Tuesday suit you for dinner? Papa 
is only at home in the evening. Seven o’clock. 

“ I am afraid Sarry will be away all next week. She would have 
liked so much to see you again. She says she has always looked 
on you as a sort of brother of Mrs. Desprez — ^but she can’t remem- 
ber you anywhere except that once. With kind regards and hop- 
ing to see you on Tuesday, believe me. 

Yours sincerely, 

Jane Spencf^r.” 


238 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


239 


“WoPs your love-letter this morning, Nipper?^’ said my Father 
as we sate at breakfast. 

‘^Will I dine on Tuesday? See it if you like, Daddy! There^s 
nothing you want me for on Tuesday ? ” And I passed the letter 
over to him. He was rather slow over reading, though he had 
improved immensely of late years. 

“Jane Spencer,” said he, taking the name first — “Widow lady, 
I presoom.” 

“Not a bit of it! Why should she be a widow? ” 

“ Thought it looked the sort of name a Widow would have. 

Jane Spencer — Jane Spencer ” And my Father repeated the 

name as though he were trying it on a Widow and found it a good 
fit. 

She^s a very nice girl about my own age. Who’s this from, I 
wonder? Oh, it’s Guppy Featherstonehaugh — in town till the 
fifteenth — can’t I dine Tuesday ? Hummums — ^go to Opera— 
Faust and Mar^erite ” 

“Who’s she?” interjected my Father, but I took no notice. 

“Little Tripey — engaged to be married — seems absurd! — No, 
I can’t! not Tuesday — isn’t the other one Tuesday?” 

“ The very nice girl your own age ? She’s Tuesday. But who’s 
Marguerite ? ” 

“ She’s nothing. She’s in Faust. I’m sorry about Gup — ^but 
it can’t be helped. We must get another day ” 

“ Won’t the very nice girl do another day — not even for the 
Hoarperer?” I didn’t rise to this, and my Father, after an in- 
effectual attempt to materialize Marguerite, gave her up, and went 
back to a starting point. 

“ Eespecting of this here young Widow lady ” 

“ She’s not a Widow,” said I, emphatically. 

“Well, Nipper dear, keep your hair on! Anyhow, you’d think 
from her name she would come in and do rooms out. Coorse I 
know Nothin’! I’m only a sooperannuated old Governor ” 

“ You’re my dear old Dad. However, I’ll tell you all about 
her.” And I did so, and by the time I’d got to the fourth or 
fifth reason why I preferred to chuck the Opera and go to Hamp- 
stead, my Father was choosing Jane’s wedding dress. 

“Sorry she ain’t a beauty, Joey! Look well in a sort of grey 
tool, perhaps ? Does she wear mittens ? ” 

I wasn’t the least responsible for the image my Father was con- 
structing of J ane Spencer. 

“Not that I know of. Daddy. And she really is a very nice- 
looking girl, with hazel eyes and a much better figure than her 


240 


JOSEPH VANCE 


gister. Of course she’s not a Beauty, like that beastly little 
monkey Jeannie!” And then, as this epithet was certainly a 
strong one, I narrated Miss McGaskin’s escapades of the other 
evening. I understood my Father to take exception to Jeannie’s 
shovelling me off on a dowdy because she couldn’t have me her- 
self; this was quite an unjust summing-up of the position, and I 
protested that though Jeannie was awfully pretty, she was child- 
ish and a romp and a tomboy, while Janey Spencer wasn’t a dowdy 
at all, if you came to that, and was particularly charming and 
attractive in other points than mere appearance. I liked the 
sound of my own voice when I praised her. I did not analyze my 
satisfaction. But reflecting that I might indulge it at the price 
of too much misconception on my Father’s part, I discounted all 
this by alleging an entire absence of motive of any sort for pre- 
ferring Hampstead to the Opera next Tuesday. My Father didn’t 
seem impressed by these assurances, and said — Oh ah! he saw. I 
did not pursue the subject. 

Nothing happened on that Tuesday visit to Hampstead, which 
duly came off as appointed, to make it the least necessary that I 
should carry Miss Austen’s Pride and Prejudice ” up there two 
or three days later. Jane had certainly mentioned that she hadn’t 
got the book and would like to read it again — ^but it could have 
waited a few days, or even gone by P. D. C. But I must needs 
travel up there in a snowstorm on the pretext of taking her a 
novel which the local Library could have supplied. The snow- 
fall began as the bus passed the now extinct Waterworks in Hamp- 
stead Eoad. By the time I reached The Limes I was in a white 
world. 

Only Miss Jane was visible — Miss Spencer was away. Mrs. 
Spencer was confined to her room; and as I forget what was the 
matter with her I suppose I didn’t care. Mr. Spencer wasn’t 
home yet, and might be very late. I affected perplexity, but ended 
by deciding that under the exceptional circumstances Miss Jann 
would do to represent the Family. The servant might have re- 
plied, Considering that the other evening when you dined herf 
you only spoke to Miss Jane and hardly looked at Miss Aldridge 
and Miss Kate Aldridge, who are both personable, I should rather 
think she would do.” But she was a discreet servant, and merely 
asked if I would be pleased to walk into the Library. I felt that 
I should. 

A canary-bird was in the Library, perhaps a descendant of the 
former one — ^but he wasn’t singing. If I understood a twitter 
rightly, he made a remark about the snow outside, and then re- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


241 


tired from public life. On the table was the same mirror; in the 
bookcase was “Peter Simple.” I could have got it out and gone 
on reading about flapdoodle in the same armchair. But then, 
thought I, all would go on very nearly as before till the time came 
for Lossie’s return; and then no knock would come at the door, 
and the house would not as then become suddenly all aglow with 
Lossie. I turned sick at heart, and forgot the years between. I 
turned a little physically dizzy too, for when Janey Spencer came 
in she found me sitting in the chair with my head in my hands 
and my elbows on the table. 

She must have opened the door and looked in without my hear- 
ing her, for the first thing I did hear was her voice outside, 
epeaking to the servant. 

“Would you please come, Eliza! Come at once — am afraid 
Mr. Vance is ill.” I heard Eliza hurrying up the kitchen stairs 
as I ran to the door. 

“Oh, my dear Miss Janey — do forgive me! I^m not ill at all, 
not the least — it’s only a way I have of putting my face in my 
hands. And you came so quietly I didn’t hear you.” Of course 
it was a lie about putting my face in my hands — but it was a 
case of extreme pressure. I had to prevent Eliza thinking I was 
drunk — I wasn’t afraid of Janey. However, I was so anxious for 
a perfectly clear conscience that as soon as Eliza had gone, I con- 
fessed up in that sense. 

^Something was the matter though,” said Janey, and nailed 
me to veracity with her candid hazel eye. 

“ Yes — something. But I don’t know that I can exactly 
describe it. Something connected with my having been here so 
long ago.” 

“And Mrs. Desprez?” 

What a very stupid boy I must have been at twenty-one to 
think this sharpness phenomenal ! I got confused and stut- 
tered. 

“Yes — no — yes! Well, I suppose yes — in a certain sense, yes. 
Well then, yes!” This last yes was a hauling down of colours 
in reply to an anticipated broadside. For Jane had not spoken. 
Neither did she speak till she had stirred the fire and made a 
blaze. Then she closed the door, and after a collateral remark 
about how nobody ever came fussing into the Library and one 
could chat in quiet, sat down before the fire and brought up the 
Bill for a second Beading. 

“ I can remember Lossie Thorpe — ^that is, Mrs. Desprez — coming 
in here and sitting in this chair with her bonnet in her 


242 JOSEPH VANCE 

lap and her hair loose.” So could 1. " You were Very, 

fond of her?” 

“Very. But she isn’t dead, you know. Now, is she?” 

“ No ! But she’s — well ! — she’s married.” 

“And gone to India,” said I, softening it, and evading the 
trend of the conversation. “ It is almost the same thing as dead 
to us, — that is to her father, and her brothers and myself.” But 
Janey was not to be put off with this mean shift. Her brothers, 
indeed! Not that she said this — she only thought it almost 
audibly. I felt it necessary to improve my position. 

“ You see, of course, it was like this. Lossie Thorpe took me up 
when I was the merest kid — used to sit on her lap and that 
sort of thing — and I used to spend most of my time when I wasn’t 
at school at her father’s. I almost became an inmate. And so, 
naturally, when we lost her, it was ” I stopped dead. 

“Naturally it was,” said Janey. “But I daresay her brothers 
are not inconsolable. Mr. Oliver Thorpe bears it with resignation. 
The young one, Joey, of course must feel the loss dreadfully — his 
sister was quite a mother to him ” 

“ Joey is young. Boys are like that.” 

“ Like what ? ” 

“Well — they take things coolly — sometimes ” 

“ And you have not taken things coolly ? ” 

“ Not altogether. Her father and I, don’t you see, are ” 

“No— I don’t see ” 

“By-the-bye, Miss Spencer, I brought you up that book — 
‘ Pride and Prejudice ’ — ^you said you would like to read it again. 
I think it far her cleverest Novel. I don’t care nearly so much 
for ‘ Mansfield Park ’ ” Jane interrupted me. 

“No — Mr. Vance — I won’t be put off with ‘Pride and Preju- 
dice ’ — nor even ‘ Mansfield Park.’ I want to know what her 
father and you-don’t-you-see are?” 

“ Why, it’s difficult ! I mean it’s a difficult sort of thing to 
talk about. It’s not Euclid. Of course her going away wasn’t 
the same thing to her father and to me — there could be no 
comparison ” 

“ And if she had stayed in England ? ” 

“It would have made the whole difference to him. Since she 
has been gone it has not been like the same house. He kept up 
wonderfully, and said he was not going to be a damper on hie 
daughter’s happiness. But as soon as she was gone he broke down. 
And he has never seemed the same since.” It was curious what 
a relief I found it to turn the conversation in this way entirely to 


JOSEPH VANCE 


243 


Hr. Thorpe. All I said of him I was at liberty to mean about 
myself, only it was so infinitely easier to say it of him. But this 
way of treating the matter wasn^t fair to Jane Spencer, who saw 
the subject being wheedled into another channel. However, she 
let me run on for a while, until I escaped altogether into a region 
of no interest. I think I made use of sleeplessness Dr. Thorpe 
had suffered from in the past six months as a stepping-stone to 
dyspepsia; an interesting subject, but not the one the candid 
hazel eyes had nailed me up to talk about. 

'^Mr. Vance,” said their owner, never mind light diets and 
little and often. I want you to tell me something ! ” 

“ I will — if I can.” But I was frightened all the same. 

^^Wby is it a man can never be, frankly and honestly, friends 
with a woman, and talk to her without reserve as he would to a 
man like himself ? ” 

‘‘ Can’t he ? ” 

“ No — ^he can’t ! At least you can’t talk to me so. Oh yes — I 
know what any one would say! We’ve only met three times; two 
wiggly sofas, and one dinner up here. But then just think! 1 
was the little girl Janey you saw in the glass, as you told me last 
week. And I found you there nine years ago waiting for Lossie 
Thorpe. And just now I found you again in the same place, and 
all so changed. And then you make reserves, and keep this back 
and keep that back; and I want to be so sorry for you, and you 
won’t let me.” 

How nice it would have been to have a sister like this to go 
to — in my half-delirious time at Oxford, for instance ! “ A sister 

or cousin or middle-aged relative of some sort,” murmured Joe 
Vance No. 2, and then added, “whom I shouldn’t have any partic- 
ular tendresse for.” But I put him aside, feeling thoroughly 
ashamed of him. “ Oh, do forgive me,” I cried to Janey, “ I 
won’t humbug any more. Indeed, I’ll tell you the whole truth. 
Only, as I said, it’s not altogether easy to tell.” 

“ You would find it much easier to tell if you knew how easy I 
should find it to understand — or any woman, for that matter. 
Why, I believe I could tell you the whole story without troubling 
you to say a word. You were and always have been, and are still, 
so fond of Lossie Thorpe that you cannot bear to lose her. Where 
is the difficulty of talking about it ? ” 

“ There is none — to you.” And J aney’s free speech and direct 
treatment of the subject came to me almost as a kind of revela- 
tion. Also it put me on such perfectly easy terms with her that 
when, as I was taking leave at the door and Mr. Spencer came 


244 


(JOSEPH VANCE 


etruggling in through the thickening snow, and remarked that it 
would be quite contra yacem Domini Regis for me to think of 
going all the way to Clapham on such a night, I accepted the sug- 
gestion gratefully, and without mental complications, and Janey 
said I should sleep in my old room.” 

Why did I not accept Janey^s frank interpretation of the posi- 
tion? Why could I not see that her persistence in getting at the 
truth about Lossie was due to her wish to define the terms of her 
friendship with me, and to preclude philandering? She was just 
the sort of girl to be able to be friends with a man and no more, 
provided he would be content to reciprocate. But I must needs 
sneak in a sub-intent to the effect that the position might be 
reconsidered, and I really only made use of the treaty as a 
stepping-stone to its reconsideration. Poor Janey had squared it 
all up with me so truthfully and courageously. Eor how could 
better security have been given for good behaviour than the con- 
fession of an anchorage elsewhere? Surely I was to be relied on 
to keep my affections to myself. But in any case of this sort, 
however truthful may be a girPs wish to fraternize but not to 
marry, the man’s restless vanity is sure to be at work suggesting 
that her version of her sentiments is probably untrue, and that it 
is really quite impossible she shouldn’t care for him a little more 
than that! 

So when (as may be imagined) it came to the foolish declara- 
tion, that should not then have been made, of a passion that I was 
not absolutely certain I felt, Janey threw out her hands with a 
sort of gesture of despair, and cried, Oh, Mr. Vance, Mr. Vance, 
we were so jolly and now you’ve spoiled it all ! ” And so I had, 
and had done it very stupidly too. Eor a revelation of what I 
was pleased to call my feelings, which would have been plausible 
to myself, or maybe more than merely plausible, a year after my 
confession about Lossie, was a mistake at the end of a couple of 
months. 

My Father, who had been watching my proceedings with deep 
interest, was rather disgusted when I told him the widow lady 
said she wouldn’t have me. Eor he persisted in considering Janey 
as essentially a relict; although by miscarriage of circumstances 
she had never been married. He cheered up, however, when I 
gave him a few more particulars. ^‘It’s only her ’umbug, Joe,” 
was his conclusion. “The land warn’t ripe for building! Yon 
turned on the water before it biled, and just spoiled all the tea. 
I should ’ark back to the startin’-post if I was in your stockins, 


JOSEPH VANCE 


245 


and light a new cigar, as the sayin^ is.” I did not identify the 
saying, but I saw that my Father’s mixture of allegories contained 
the truth. 

I had half informed Dr. Thorpe of all my goings-on, and had 
described my visit to the McGaskins and so forth. I noticed 
that whenever I went on my weekly Saturday evening visit to 
Poplar Villa, which had become a sacred usage, the Doctor’s first 
greeting at the gate was always: Well — Joe — any news?” And 
he expected some, anxiously — and his disappointment was always 
visible when there was no news. No doubt casual intimations 
reached him through Nolly, who was just capable of a very 
languid interest in a love-match when there was no Cricket- 
match on the tapis. I settled in my mind that I would take the 
Doctor into my confidence at the next opportunity. One came 
quickly enough, for when I walked into his Library the first time 
after what I had represented to my Father as my rejection 
(though, indeed, it hardly amounted to that) the Doctor met me 
with, Come, Joe, some news this time, I hope!” I should have 
liked to be able to say yes, for he looked grey and old, and as if he 
sadly wanted a life-brightener. But I had to shake my head. 

“ Nothing, so far. Doctor.” 

“But something, some time — eh, Joe? You’ll tell me when 
there is any news, dear boy, won’t you ? ” 

“Indeed I will. Or suppose I tell you now — ^Nolly has told 
about me and Janey Spencer — isn’t it?” 

“ That’s the ticket. You shall tell me about it all dinner-time. 
The Legal Mind and the Poet are both away and we shall have it 
all to ourselves.” The Legal Mind, of course, was Nolly; and the 
Poet, Joey. He had certainly a faculty for verse-writing. But 
we have nothing to do with him at present. 

“Now, Joe, old boy!” said Dr. Thorpe, when we came to the 
port wine and walnut stage — “tell me all about you and Jane 
Spencer.” 

“ There isn’t much to tell. It comes substantially to this — I 
have told Jane that I like her very much (which is perfectly true) 
and that I think she would be an ideal wife for any man, and that 
if she agrees I will try to make her an equally good husband ” 

“ Was that the way you put it? ” 

“ Well — very nearly ! ” 

“And what did she say?” I imitated Janey’s action and man- 
ner in replying, giving her words as I have given them above. 

“ She must be a particularly nice girl,” said the Doctor, his 
face rippling all over with amusement. 


246 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Indeed she is/’ said I, and broke into a panegyric of Janey 
with real pleasure. 

And you really mean, Joe,” said he, when I had done, “ that 
you felt all that and couldn’t put any more steam on than what I 
gather you did — from what you say ? ” 

I put on all the steam I was capable of.” 

“ About two pounds to the inch ? ” 

‘‘ More than that — say, twenty.” 

Wliat pressure is wanted to make your other Engine, the Great 
Invention, reciprocate ? ” 

^‘It works best at high pressures.” 

‘^Ah, Joe dear, that’s where it is! The Human engine works 
best at high pressures, Janey would reciprocate, I have no doubt, 
at two hundred to the inch. What does your Father say — ^you’ve 
told him?” 

‘‘ Oh yes — I’ve told him. He goes on the same line — says I 
turned on the water before it boiled, and spoiled all the tea.” 

“His metaphor is better than mine. We seem to run into 
metaphors over this job! Of course the urn ought to spit and 
fizzle before you turn the handle down — also the pot ought to be 
warm! It’s a pretty allegory. Now you’ll have your smoke.” 
And I sat and puffed before the fire. 

But, as all roads lead to Rome, so for me in these days all roads 
led to Lossie, who was my Rome. Even the allegory of the um 
and the tea brought back to me one of the thousand pictures of 
Lossie which line the walls of my gallery of Memories. I could 
see her plainly kissing Sarry on both sides ; as I presumed, to keep 
her isosceles ! — and could again hear the urn in the breakfast-room 
at The Limes protesting against being left boiling so long. Now 
if you skipped the place where I told of this you won’t know what 
I mean. Skip this too — 

“Cheer up, Joe! Don’t look so sad, old man. The fly-wheel 
will keep the engine running till you put the steam on again. 
She’ll be all right ! ” 

“ Janey Spencer ? Oh yes — ^I daresay that may come all right — 
one mustn’t be in too great a hurry.” 

But the Doctor looked unhappy and disconcerted as he stood 
there on the hearthrug rubbing his chin. Then he made a turn up 
and down the room, stopping to take snufF. Then he came back 
and let himself down into his armchair again with “ Ah — well ! ” 
Each of us knew what the other was thinking of. 

“ Leave it all in God’s hands, Joey,” said he. And we left it — 
left it alone, at any rate, until the servant having provided a tray, 


JOSEPH VANCE 


247 


and a kettle and lemons ed altri generi, as Italian shops say, 
wanted to know if there was ansrthing else. Being informed that 
with that exception (whatever it was) the Universe was empty, 
and there was nothing else, she retired with benedictions. Then 
I returned to the subject. 

“ But the question is, is it right ? ” 

“ Is what right ? ” 

Going hammering on at Janey Spencer, when she’s said flatly 
that she would much rather not think of marriage at all, that she 
does not believe that she would be happy nor make me happy, and 
that for all that she doesn’t want to lose me — ^^says why can’t she 
have me without marrying me ? ” 

“ That sounds like an Advanced American idea ! But of course 
I know what the girl means — ^bless her heart ! ” 

** Of course. Well, is it right ? ” 

The question is — are we really fond enough of Janey Spencer? 
Well — are we?” 

I couldn’t answer. I felt that Joe Vance No. 2 was trying to 
get his word in, but I snubbed him, as I did not approve of his 
tone of thought on the subject. The Doctor continued: 

“ It does seem to me very odd, Joe, that any young man should 
speak as you do of a girl and not be able to marry her; twice over, 
for that matter.” 

I broke into a perfectly genuine laugh. Marry Jane Spen- 
cer ! ” I cried ; why, I’d marry her to-morrow ! Any fellow 
would.” 

Then what’s the botheration ? ” said the Doctor, looking 
amused again. I felt I must clinch my meaning. 

“ I know she will never marry me unless I can give her some 
satisfactory assurance that I — well! some kind of satisfactory 
credentials ” 

Perhaps,” answered he, very gravely, “ if you were to tell her 
all about yourself — all, I mean, about things of this sort — ^how 
would that be ? ” 

“ I have told her everything,” said I. 

Dr. Thorpe’s puzzled look came back again worse than before. 
He took more snuff, and in the sound of his taking it I almost 
thought I heard a kind of a sob. Then he said again, ‘‘Ah — 
well ! ” and after a pause, “ You must leave it all in God’s hands, 
Joe.” He got up and took another turn about the room, and 
then resumed his chair and his speech at the same time. 

“ When I say that, Joe, you know what I mean. We can’t take 
anything out of God’s hands — not the biggest among us. But 


248 


JOSEPH VANCE 


we can all do our best in patience, and be ready to accept the end 
when it comes. ThaPs my meaning, or most of it.^' 

‘‘You were afraid I should get into a Capstickian Complicated 
Mixture over it?” said 1. For really, it seemed to me we were 
on the edge of a Metaphysical morass. 

“ That sort of thing certainly ! ” said he. And we both laughed, 
with a little tribute to old times, somehow, in our laugh. “ But I 
donT see the use of Anthropomorphism at all, unless it stands by 
us at a crisis! However, if I can’t get a gleam, I shall just be 
patient in the dark. But it would have been very nice, dear boy, 
to know that you were happy — No! I wasn’t building on it. And 
you mustn’t allow a wish to make my mind easy influence you. It 
would be wrong to Miss Spencer. If you try again, after what 
she has said, she will probably believe what you say — which she 
evidently didn’t, last try! — Joe!” — My name came from the 
Doctor by itself, in serious appeal. He laid his foreflnger on my 
hand, that held my empty pipe on the table beside me. “Yes — 
Doctor ! ” said I. 

“ Are you quite sure you know how much you care about her ? ” 
“ I’m sure I could ” 

“ Marry her ? Yes — of course ! But, I mean, are you sure you 
don’t care more than you think ? ” 

“ No,” said I, after a moment’s reflection. “ I’m not.” And I 
wasn’t. And I tried again, and Janey believed what I said. So 
did L 


OHAPTER XXIX 


HOW TWO FIANCES READ MRS. LUCILLA DESPREZ^S ANSWER TO JOETfc* 
LETTER. OF PERTURBATION THEREAT. OP HOW JOE's FATHER 
FOUND AND READ IT TOO. HE WILL NOT BE AN ENCUMBRANCE. OF 
ANOTHER LETTER FROM JANE. JOE IS BROKEN QUITE OFF. 

When, therefore, Pheener knocked at the door of the sitting- 
room at my Father’s (as per my disjointed statement some chap- 
ters ago) it was an Engaged Couple that called out Come in,” 
after establishing a respectable distance between its moieties. 
And Pheener came in and brought many letters, on one of which I 
pounced. I had reasons for wishing to read it before I showed 
it to Janey. But Janey was too sharp. 

Oh, J oseph — that’s not fair ! After reading all my letters the 
other day, and me letting you ! I know who it’s from — it’s Lossie 
Desprez. However, keep it — keep it, I shall see all her letters to 
Sarry, and it will do just as well. So go your own way. Master 
Joseph.” 

The exact reason why Janey was at Clapham is not indispen- 
sable, but I may as well give it. She had been to pay a Christmas 
visit to an Aunt at Streatham, and I had been all day at work on 
Engineering Drawings in a little sanctum I had made for myself 
at my Father’s. This Aunt was peculiar. She objected to nieces 
being engaged, and after much discussion it had been decided 
that it would be on the whole safer not to take me to see her. 
“ She’ll be all right when we’re married, Joseph,” said Janey. 

Can any one explain why it is that Aunts have always to be 
treated with such tact and discretion? It is certainly my own 
experience that the Human Race appears to be always taking care 
not to give olfence to its Aunts, and avoiding subjects which are 
likely to hi;rt the feelings of its Aunts, and wondering what Aunt 
This will say when she hears of That, or Aunt That will think 
when she sees T’other — and generally entrenching itself against 
serried ranks of Aunts, paternal and maternal. Is not each man’s 
Mother some other man’s Aunt? and many men’s Aunts (however 
painful the fact may be) several other persons’ Mothers ? I should 
like to pursue this curious subject some other time — at present I 
have to get on with my narrative. 

249 


250 


JOSEPH VANCE 


This particular Aunt of Janey’s then, being bristly, and dif- 
ficult of approach by half -fledged nephews, had thrown obstacles in 
the way of my calling for Janey to take her back to Hampstead, 
but at the same time had been keenly alive to the perils of the 
wilds of suburbs, and had graciously provided the carriage to give 
her a lift to my Father’s. We were teaing together greatly to our 
satisfaction when Pheener knocked. And that brings me back 
to the letter again. 

^‘No, dear girl — ^you shall have the letter all to yourself and 
read it first if you like.” 

“I was only joking, dear Joseph. Be a good boy and come 
back here and we’ll read it together.” And I have no doubt if 
you could have looked in at the window you would have remarked 
that we were a nice-looking young couple of spooneys on a settee 
reading a letter. 

As our last letters had contained plenty to answer there was not 
much about India. There was a good deal about my Father, and 
I was a little sorry Janey should see it. Then I saw, glancing 
ahead of our deciphering, that the letter went on to answer my 
question about being romantically in love.” I was apprehensive 
that something might easily grate on the existing order of things, 
which had all come about since my letter was written. I estab- 
lished a firmer hold on Janey’s loose hand, to provide against 
contingencies. On went the letter: 

‘^Hugh and I were so amused with your visit to the Scotch 
Engineer’s. Can’t your friend Bony be induced to give up the 
lovely Jeannie? You seem to have been in a very serious plight 
about her. But fancy you happening on the other Jane at the 
same house. The idea of its being Grizzle all the while, and your 
not knowing it! But ‘not half bad, considering’! Let me tell 
you, you are a most impertinent young man, and Janey is quite 
one of the most charming and delightful creatures I know ” 

“Very well, Master Joseph,” said Janey, sternly, withdrawing 
her hand from mine. “ You shan’t have it back again — ^you don’t 
deserve it! ‘Not half bad, considering!’ Well, I like that! 
And then you have the impudence to ask me to marry you — after 
saying I wasn’t half bad, considering ! ” 

“ Please, it wasn’t me,” said I. “ Please, it was a clerical error. 
Please, it was a lapsus calami. 

“ Yes, that’s all very fine ! But considering That’s what 

I want to know! Now do you deserve it back? — ^‘Of course not.^ 


JOSEPH VANCE 251 

— Well I’m glad you plead guilty! Now leave alone and let me 
get on with the letter.” 

‘‘And now, dear Joe, you ask me whether it is ‘really necessary 
to married happiness to be romantically in love at first go off.’ 
Ho try and think of what I write as if I were speaking to you, and 
speaking very seriously. My idea is this: that happiness may 
result from any marriage however incongruous, and however little 
the parties deserve it! But no one has a right to run any risks. 
Another human creature’s happiness is too serious to tamper with, 
even if you have a right (and I don’t believe it) to make ducks 
and drakes of your own. If what you say points to an intention 
to apply for Grizzle, and means that you don’t feel quite sure 
you care about her, wait till you do! You are only a boy of 
twenty-two — what do you want with marrying ! Go to the Zoologi- 
cal Gardens with Grizzle — go to the Play — go to Henley-on- 
Thames — go anywhere, but don’t go to the altar of Hymen. When 
I think of what a dear boy you are and what a dear girl Grizzle 
is, I shudder at the idea of your imperilling each other’s happiness 
by rushing into a stupid undertaking, with possibly horrible con- 
sequences. Why can’t you be contented as you are?” 

“Why can’t you?” said Janey, stopping short and turning 
the letter over on her knees. 

“ Never mind — I can’t. That’s enough for now. Business is 
business. Go on with the letter ! ” 

“Yes — but I want to know why you can’t.” 

“Why I can’t what?” 

“ Be contented as you are ” 

“I am contented. I’ve got you here, and what more do I 
want ? ” 

“Joseph! Be good enough not to prevaricate.” But there was 
a certain tone of satisfaction in her voice, and I felt that I had 
made a hit. 

But why do I put it in that way ? Why should there have been 
any question of scoring? 

“ Cut along. Grizzle darling ! Fire away with the letter.” 

“ Now, my dear old boy, I don’t think I should write so earnestly 
about it, only that I suspect from other things you say that you 
have another motive in wanting to marry. You always let cats 
out of bags when you write letters, although you do know how 
to keep your mouth shut in ” 


252 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


" — ^WhaPs that word?” 

‘‘‘In Nature/ That man that painted Vi, you know, said the 
mouth was small ‘ in Nature ^ ” 

“ — ‘in Nature,’ and I can’t help thinking you have got an idea 
that a daughter-in-law and a household would be good for your 
Father, and would keep him from the Whiskey-bottle ” 

“Grizzle dearest — Lossie has quite misunderstood something I 
said. Oh, do — oh, don’t — I mean don’t go on reading, because 
Lossie can’t have meant any one hut me to read it ” 

Janey folded up the letter and flat turning it over with the free 
hand. The other lay very limp in mine — and she said not a 
word. 

“ Oh, my dearest — don’t you misunderstand me too ! — I know 
quite well what gave Lossie that notion — it was in a letter I wrote 
before — you know I began sending off letters soon after she 
went. It was before ever we met at Circus Road — indeed, it 
was!” But Janey only turned the letter over, and her hand was 
very cold in mine. 

“Never mind, dear Joseph,” said she at last. “It was right 
and good of you to think about your Father. But ” 

But Janey’s lips clenched and her face wrinkled up as though 
a burst of tears were coming. It stopped in an early stage before 
reaching the sob or gasp, and only spoiled her face for a second 
or so. “ Never mind,” said she, courageously. “We must be off 
— we shall never get to Hampstead in time for dinner.” Janey’s 
face wasn’t at its best when she began to cry, and I was glad 
when she cleared up. 

She did not quite clear up though — there was a chill all the 
way to Hampstead, a something uncomfortable. She was sweet 
and nice, as she always was; but warmth and comfort had gone. 

, I could see that Mr. Spencer’s legal acumen perceived that some- 
thing was wrong, but his professional reserve forbade his asking 
questions. As for Mrs. Spencer, I don’t know whether she ever 
perceived anything at all on this or any other subject. Besides, 
there were guests. 

I did not stay the night, as my room was bespoken by a country 
cousin. I found my way back through a gale and sleet to Clap- 
ham about two in the morning, and went to bed discouraged. 

I had arranged to stay at home next evening and dine with my 
Father. I had been neglecting the old boy lately, and whenever 
I did this I fancy he took a little extra, to balance. He seemed to 


JOSEPH VANCE 


253 


me peevish and sleepy. He made an unusual parade of allow- 
ancing himself two small glasses of whiskey, and even directed 
Pheener to take away the dam bottle. 

If I do go the length of another ’arf-a-glass,” said he, it ^11 
be quite independent of this here allowance — acrost another bar 
as you might say, hay, Nipper?” This was his favourite method 
of combining a clear conscience with the profits of transgression, 
and the smile under Pheener’s skin came through to the surface. 

WhaPs little Clementina a-grinnin’ at ? ” said he. 

At this the smile became a giggle or splutter, and vanished into 
the passage with Pheener and a tray. Provided with more cheer- 
fulness of tone by this little incident, my Father went on: 

But you havenT any call to fret, dear Nipper. Your old Dad 
isnT going to be a burden on two young folk starting in life. 
You'll be all right.” 

Daddy!” 

“Nipper! Just precisely as I say, so I stick to! You and this 
here nice young lady, Mrs. Nipper as is to be, are going to start 
fair without encumbrances. You’ll have to provide your own en- 
cumbrances,” here came in a trace of jocularity, which expanded 
as my Father proceeded to rough-sketch an advertisement, an- 
nouncing the arrival of an early grandson. 

“ But, Daddy, it would spoil it all, if you were not there.” 

“Would it, Joey? But I expect Miss Lossie’s right. She 
mostly is. She’s right about the dam bottle, and I expect she’s 
right about you.” He put on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, 
which had served two purposes, one to give a finishing touch to 
solvency and respectability, the other to nourish a fiction that the 
wearer had always had a turn for reading, but had been baffled by 
short sight. He then pulled out a massive pocketbook, in which he 
had actually learned to write very fair memoranda, and drew 
from a side slip a letter which I at once identified as Lossie’s let- 
ter of yesterday ! I had looked for it when I returned, there being 
a remainder unread, and had been upset at not finding it, but had 
thought possibly Janey had taken it, and forgotten to give it 
back. Here was a nice mess! 

“Well — I declare — ^Dad! There’s my letter, after all! I 

hunted for it all last night.” 

“ Nippers shouldn’t leave their letters about. When they do, 
their Dads finds ’em and reads ’em. When they reads ’em thein 
conclusions are (push over the ’baccy to my side) — as follows.”— < 
This resource of rhetoric favoured the lighting of a pipe beforcS 
continuing. — “Are as follows — you shut up, Joey, and let me da. 


254 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Ihe poll-parrotting — are as follows: When Nippers^ Dads are 
addicted to anything (whiskey, for instance) it don^t do ^em any 
barm to be well blown up — especially if Miss Lossie. So I say 
nothing about that. But I do say this, Joey,^’ and my Father^s 
manner changed as he forsook the ohliqua oratio, I do say a 
young gaFs entitled to be consulted and have her finger in the pie, 
and not to have her boozy old father-in-law chucked round her 
neck like a millstone from behind.’^ 

know what you mean. Daddy dear! But though I have 
never said anything to Janey about it, I told Mr. Spencer what 
you said about there being enough and more than enough, even if 
I didn’t succeed in my profession, and that you said there would 
be always this house, anyhow — of course he understood you 
wouldn’t be turned into the street ” 

^‘How do you know that, Nipper? Didn’t the Prodigal Son 
heave his Grandfather out of a fourth story, or something ? 
iMaybe I’ve got it wrong — or the Reverend Capstick had? But it 
all comes round to the same thing in the end. Instead of offer- 
ing your ’and and ’art to Miss J aney, you should have said, ^ I 
am your devoted lover. Will you come (after Church, of course) 
and live with me and my sickenin’ old guv’nor, and lock up the 
whiskey-bottle when he’s visibly had too much ? ’ ” 

Oh, Dad, Dad, Dad, dear old Dad — I believe you’re laughing 
all the while! Why, one of the very first things Janey said to me 
was that I never could leave my Father. There now ! ” 

“ On which account matrimony be blowed ! That was what Miss 
Janey hadn’t quite the ’art to say, or she’d have said it, ’cos she 
meant it. But it’s all right, Nipper dear! As I said afore, sootes 
of Chambers are sootes of Chambers — or if not, there’s any num- 
ber of eligible residences within a radius. There’s the Post.” 

Whenever the Post is heard conversation suspends itself 
naturally, until the said Post, or what it has unburdened its con- 
science of, is brought in. Weakness and Impatience sometimes 
run out to meet it, and sometimes come back crestfallen on find- 
ing it was only for the cook; or a circular. In this case, during 
the pause, I picked up Lossie’s letter, and read the remainder. 

“ — would be good for your Father, and would keep him from 
the Whiskey-bottle. Dear Joe, I know how hard it must seem to 
you to place any feeling above your love for your Father, for I 
know how you love him. But ask yourself what you owe to the 
woman who gives herself and her life away to you without reserve — 
Ihink of the risks she runs for your sake — ^think how her whole 


JOSEPH VANCE 


255 


future depends on it. According to my idea the slightest taint 
of bargain-making on the part of either is wrong even when 
prompted by love for a parent. Such a motive, of course, is better 
than property-mongering — it is without the vulgarities of hard 
cash and titledom — but it’s wrong in principle and fact, and noth' 
ing can make it right. Eemember, I write all this wondering how 
on earth, if you love Janey at all, you can stop short of loving her 
outright It must be like trying to stop running down a steep 
hill. . . . 

could go on writing ever so long about it, but one must 
draw a line. Do think of what I say. I know you will be a dear 
boy anyhow, even if you do get a bit puzzled. — Only space on the 
paper for Hugh’s love with mine. 

“ Your affect. 

Lossie."^ 

Two letters for you,” said my Father, analyzing the Post 
*^Four for me. One for ’Ickman. One for Clementina — ^here’s 
your young man wrote round to say he’s got another gurl and 
don’t want you. Catch it! Yours looks like Miss Spencer’s ’and. 
You catch it !” — and my Father threw the letter across the table 
to me. 

“ Hullo ! ” said I. Why, I saw her at eleven o’clock last night.” 
I opened the letter in trepidation, feeling things had gone wrong. 
The first two words made me think I must be mistaken, and then 
reading on I saw I wasn’t. 

^‘Dearest Joseph: I feel I ought to lose no time in telling you 
the conclusion I have come to about our engagement. No marriage 
ought to take place when either party doubts its being for the 
happiness of both. Are you confident of yours and mine? I am 
confident of neither. It seems to me that we have been mistaken, 
and that all we can do now is to let bygones be bygones. I cannot 
tell you how I blame myself — for I feel I am the one to blame — 
nor how humbly I ask your forgiveness. 

‘^Do not suppose that it is only Mrs. Desprez’s letter that has 
done this — least of all that I should be hurt by thinking that your 
affection for your Father, and your wish to add to his comforts, 
had had an influence over you. I should only love you the better 
for your love of him. But it is impossible for me to write ex- 
actly the reasons why I feel I am right in breaking faith with you 
i<md refusing to become your wife. I am not sure that I really 


256 


JOSEPH VANCE 


know them myself. I do know that I am acting with a thought 
for your welfare, as well as mine. 

“I will not justify myself lest you should answer me with argu- 
ments, and persuade me to marry you against my own conviction 
of what is best for us both. Do not come to see me. Although 
I am forced to behave in this way, I hope and pray that you will 
always think of me as your most affectionate friend, 

“Jane Spencer.” 

“Anything disagreed, Joey?” said my Father, looking up from 
a letter he was anticipating Hickman over, with occasional grunts. 
“Got the stummick-ache ? Have a little drop of the Objection- 
able? Put that dam bottle back on the table, Celestina.” 

“ Oh no ! It’s all right — at least it will be all right. It’s noth- 
ing.” On which my Father, after looking attentively at me for a 
few seconds, poured out a glass from the recovered bottle. I took 
it, partly with a vain idea of preventing his drinking it himself; 
whereupon he poured himself out another, and what I took of mine 
certainly did me no good — it never did. 

I wanted very much to conceal things from him; at any rate 
until I had seen Janey. But it was no use, for next day came 
another letter manifestly directed by Janey; and it was impossi- 
ble to hide the facts, as it came by registered post and my Father 
signed for it. It contained the engagement ring I had given 
Janey, enclosed in a paper on which was written “With the love 
of a dear Friend.” Nothing else. 

' I did not feel on the receipt of this letter anything resembling 
what I had felt when Dr. Thorpe told me Lossie was engaged. I 
absolutely retained self-command, and was more piqued and angry 
than anything else; but more with myself than with Janey. It 
was Joe No. 2 who perceived that Janey was not the only single 
girl in creation, and that there were more fish in the sea than ever 
came out of it. I resented this piece of irritability though I for- 
gave Joe No. 2 for expressing his feelings on the ground of his 
having been taken by surprise. I found this quite consistent with 
loving Janey more than ever, and even allowing that she was 
perfectly right. I refused to myself to give up seeing her again 
with a view to her conversion. 

I did succeed in doing so after importunity. But poor Janey, 
though she went as white as a sheet, refused concession. And 
when I broke into a final appeal in which I exhausted all my 
powers of persuasion, she gave way to a flood of tears and cried 
mtf “Oh, Mr. Vance, Mr. Vance, you have no right to press me 


JOSEPH VANCE 


267 


so — ^you have no right.” And then hearing her Father’s footstep 
outside at this moment she called to him. ‘^Papa — Papa! Do 
come in and help me 1 ” and in reply to his What is it, dear ? — 
tell me what’s the matter,” threw herself into his arms and be- 
tween her sobs said, “ Help me to tell him I cannot marry him, 
and make him believe it.” 

“If ever Janey changes,” said Mr. Spencer, “or seems to, I 
will let you know. But she seems to me quite in earnest. My 
poor boy,” added he kindly, “ I can’t tell you how sorry I am about 
it all. I think we had better say good-bye now.” 

And I walked home all the way from Hampstead to Clapham — 
in fact, I went a long way round quite needlessly. And all 
through that long walk my mind went on concocting and reciting 
the account of all these things that I meant to write out by the 
next mail — to Lossiel 


CHAPTER XXX 


JOE COULD BEAR TO LOSE JANEY. OF THE SPHERICAL ENGINE AND HIS 
NEW PROVISIONAL. AND PRING. HOW JOE^S FATHER WILL BUILD 
HIM AN ENGINEERING WORKSHOP. THE MACALLISTER REPEATER, AND 
JOE^S PARTNERSHIP WITH BONY. MRS. BONY’s BABY. MR. BONY 
ON ENGAGEMENTS, AND HOW HE DID IT. OF A CONFESSION OF 
PHEENER’s. AND HOW OLD VANCE GOT VERY DRUNK. EHEU ! JOE 
GOES TO SEEK SOLACE FROM DR. THORPE. 

I FELT dreadfully — dreadfully — ashamed of myself in the days 
that followed. I began slowly to see that I had really never con- 
sidered Janey at all, all through! I was still too young to know 
that my fellow-vermin very rarely show any consideration what- 
ever for their females under like circumstances. 

It was very odd that I had gone on for so many years consider- 
ing Lossie everything, and my Self only a casual Planetoid or 
Satellite of no importance ; and here in a little three months, I had 
mustered the presumption to ask Janey Spencer for what I should 
hardly have dared to think of asking of Lossie. For indeed, 
Janey’s own description of my attitude of mind about Lossie was 
the true one; I simply “could not bear’’ to lose her. Now, I 
found it very hard, at first, to lose Janey — ^but still, I could bear it. 

I speculated on these points until I became quite alive to the 
fact that Janey was getting dim. Just as when one leaves behind 
the lights of another ship that for the moment have obscured the 
lighthouse that saw us out of port, just so Janey died away and 
Lossie’s illumination beamed out steadily into the darkness. 
Memories of Lossie came back to me and found me a sadder and a 
wiser man. 

However, I consoled myself with the Spherical Engine, and 
writing letters to Lossie. By the time my Provisional had ex- 
pired, and I had to render a complete specification to go with the 
application for a full Patent, I had added many improvements, 
and it was necessary to make an application for each of them 
separately or for all together, but under no circumstances could 
they be included as a portion of the original invention in the 
Patent. I was, however, at liberty to make a new Provisional 

258 


JOSEPH VANCE 


259 


Application for the whole thing. There was a disadvantage. If 
any one else had by accident himself invented my machine during 
the Provisional period and registered it, his Provisional would 
be held to have antedated mine, and I should lose everything. I 
decided to run the risk involved. 

I got by this procedure nine months clear to incorporate my 
fresh developments. According to Pring, these were all his own 
suggestion, and indeed I must say he showed an alacrity in claim- 
ing paternity that was almost as good as the real thing. 

^‘Just my idear!^’ was his invariable remark whenever I an- 
nounced any new and important variation. “Wot Pve been say- 
ing all along.’^ And I am certain that Pring was honestly unable 
to distinguish between the reception of a new idea and the re- 
vival of an old one. He was like the boy Socrates converted to a 
belief in his own pre-knowledge of Geometry. 

Not that he adhered to his claims of paternity when the birth 
turned out an abortive one. He then asked what did he tell me 
all along? And hadnT he said there was sure to be a back -lash? 
And it wasnT his fault if after all we got Ting up by overheating 
in that bearing. He’d made himself ’oarse talking about it, — and 
so forth. But the net outcome of it all was that the Engine made 
progress. 

What did not make progress was my selection of a profession. 
The obvious thing would have been for me to become a partner in 
my Father’s business. But I was very lukewarm about this, and 
he positively objected to it. “ The Nipper would spoil it all,” 
said he, “ with his ideas and notions.” He looked upon invention 
and origination as likely to be fatal to the construction of build- 
ings. According to him any builder who tried anything un- 
common was already due in bankruptcy. “ Becos, see what 
happens if you so much as ask a carpenter to put in an extra brad. 
You’re a thousand pounds outside your contract that minute, 
afore ever you know where you are. In buildin’ never you let any 
man do any job he hasn’t done before — he’ll make a ’ash of it! 
Any man presoomin’ to do anything for the first time in his life 
ought to go before the Beak and be bound over.” And of course 
my Father thought my ideas and notions would foster such pre- 
sumption. In reply to my remonstrance that there must be a first 
time to everything, he merely remarked, “ On another Job ” — and 
seemed satisfied with his position. 

One evening when my father and I were sitting with Dr. 
Thorpe, after dining at Poplar Villa, the latter spoke plainly out 
about his own views on the subject of my profession. “ Why 


260 


JOSEPH VAHOE 


can’t you go in, in earnest, Joe, for the thing you’re always 
dabbling in, and spending your Father’s money on? Take up 
Engineering and hammer away at it like mad.” 

^‘Well — of course that’s what I should like to do. Only I 
thought a Profession ought to be a Bore — not a Pleasure.” 

Greatest mistake in the world, Joe.” 

Then there’s another difficulty. Doctor — I can’t get any one to 
teach me anything.” 

Can’t they teach you anything at McGaskin and Flack’s ? ” 

^^McGaskin and Flack’s,” I echoed with tremendous scorn — 
**why, they know nothing themselves. I have to tell them every- 
thing, and then they do it wrong.” I proceeded to give a sketch 
of this Firm, to which I ascribed abnormal ignorance and very 
inferior plant. I had been in collision with Pring that morning 
on the subject of screwing lathes: on whom I had discharged aU 
the knowledge I had lately got from a paper read before the Insti- 
tute by a very advanced German, who, if I remember rightly, could 
make a screw that only travelled one way, rendering lock-nuts 
things of the past. 

“ Couldn’t you find him out and get him to take a pupil ? ” said 
the Doctor. “ Howsomever, Joe, if nobody can teach you any- 
thing until he knows how to make a screw like that, you must be 
pretty well informed. Now, why can’t you do this way? Most 
likely there’s some corner at the works your Father could spare 
room in ” 

My Father was adjusting a bandana handkerchief over his 
head to go to sleep under. “ There isn’t,” said he, elbow-room for 
a one-armed man to blow his nose in at present.” Dr. Thorpe 
looked thwarted. ^‘But I might make an ’andy shop for you,” 
went on my Father, “by jackin’ up the roof on the main buildin’, 
and addin’ a story. There wouldn’t be any great trouble go with 
that.” Dr. Thorpe looked greatly relieved, and my Father drew 
the bandana over his head and went balmily to sleep. 

“There, you see, Joe! And your Father was saying he’d got 
more Power than he could use. So you would have nothing to do 
but find a clever foreman, who would understand about paying 
wages.” 

“ I could pay wages.” 

“You can do Differential Calculus, Joe, I’ve no doubt. But 
don’t run away with the idea that you can pay men wages. It’s 
the last acquisition of human experience.” And my Father mur- 
mured in his sleep, “ Never you do anything yourself.” 

The foregoing fragment of after-dinner chat at the Doctor’s 


JOSEPH VANCE 


261 


sketches out very nearly what did happen. In fact, my Father 
provided me with all the means of starting Mechanical Engineer- 
ing on my own account, and though I spent a great deal of money 
on inventions, still with my Father’s shrewdness to back me I was 
able to make a fair show of covering the outlay and even clearing 
a small profit. But these were merely inventions-by-the-way, as 
they may be called. They belonged to a contemptible class of con- 
trivances, and their objects were to sift and grind, to produce 
cleanness and comfort, or to save needless labour. A new device 
was on the road having a nobler object, that of destroying human 
life at a small expense and a great distance. This was the source 
of a good deal of emolument, and the development of it to the 
highest degree of perfection that any Repeating Rifle had then 
attained gave the keenest pleasure to its joint Inventors, neither of 
whom was capable of murder, though each felt satisfaction at the 
existence of foreigners as raisons-d* etre for arms of precision, 
without whom we should have had to resort to Civil War, a shock- 
ing expedient. 

Did I mention that Bony Macallister was also in the Engineer- 
ing line, or was I too busy with other matters when I wrote of 
him ? I think the latter. Anyhow, Bony and I were great chums, 
and ended by going into partnership over the Macallister Re- 
peater — as I insisted on its being called, after him. It is for- 
gotten now, and a living sentinel can be sniped, and his thoughts 
about his home cut short, nearly two miles farther off. For we 
live in a great Age. But while it lasted the run on the Macallister 
Repeater was phenomenal. 

The first of these horrors was completed by us on my twenty- 
fourth birthday. It was not brought to the notice (or, at least, 
driven home to the notice) of the War Office till General Desprez’s 
return from India some time after. But there it was, a highly 
finished and perfect instrument, for us to gloat over, as NoUy used 
to gloat over his bat. And there was I, one November afternoon I 
remember well, gloating over it in a rocking-chair in my Father’s 
Snuggery, while Bony poured out the tea. 

« When’s that tea coming. Bony?” said I. ‘‘Look alive!” 

“ Stop a minute,” said Bony. “ Fly in the milk.” 

“ I tell you what. Bony. I’m sure that oval ought to be decimal 
point nought one less on the short diameter ” 

“ He will kick so confoundedly, or I could get him out. Isn’t 
that a good deal ? ” 

«Well_say ought nine nine. Why don’t you take the handle 
of the spoon ? 


262 


JOSEPH VANCE 


IVe got him ! But he’s brought a long striggle of cream out 
with him — he’s tied up in it. I don’t see that we can tell anything 
about it until it’s been properly tested at the Butts. I’ll put a 
little lukewarm water over him, and that ’ll get him clear.” 

Not too hot, you booby. When can Rawlings meet us at the 
Scrubs ? ” 

“ There’s a letter from him — ^you open it. I say, look here ! 
The beggar’s all free except one leg ” 

“Hm — hm — hm! Not before Thursday — what a bore! When’s 
that tea coming, Bony ? ” 

Don’t be in a hurry ! You’re such a hard-hearted chap. Give 
the poor beggar time to get his leg out.” 

“You’ve no need to stick there looking at him. You pour the 
tea — I’ll see he’s all right.” 

And two young men drank two cups of tea as they watched 
with animation the return of that fly to the active duties of life. 
As soon as the convalescent had drunk the milk off his person, 
and flown away clear, their attention was undividedly given to the 
implement of Hell which had absorbed it for more than a year. 
But even that flagged, and another topic dawned. 

“ What are you going to christen that Baby, Bony ? ” 

“Mrs. Macallister’s Baby?” For Bony was married! His very 
long engagement had terminated some months before, and the 
young couple had availed themselves of their power to add to their 
number like a Committee, and the new member was expected very 
shortly. Bony had the meanness to try to shuffle the whole re- 
sponsibility on his wife, always speaking of the expected article 
as Mrs. Macallister’s Baby. 

“7 want it to be Jeannie,” said he. “Jeannie wants it to be 
Archie ” 

“ You’ll have to make some concession about the sex.” 

“ That’s where it is ! We don’t want the same sex. She wants 
a he — I want a her. I expect she’ll get her way. Women always 
do ! ” I contributed a remark that Time would show, and felt 
sagacious. 

“ I say, Joseph,” said Bony, with the tone of one who is really 
approaching a subject, “whatever possessed you to make such a 
fool of yourself about J aney Spencer two years ago ? ” 

“ I didn’t make a fool of myself, my dear boy. My Creator had 
anticipated me. You see I was left in his hands (as the Doctor 
says) when I was non-existent and couldn’t speak for myseK. Be- 
sides, is one a fool for asking such a nice girl as Janey to marry 
one? ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


263 


" You know perfectly well what I mean.” 

‘‘ No — Archibald. I do not. I haven’t the slightest idea what 
you mean.” 

May I take away, Sir ? ” This of course was Pheener for the 
tea-things. Nemine contradicente, she culminated and sub- 
sided, closing the door on more or less tobacco smoke as she 
retired. 

^^Yes — you have,” resumed Archibald. ‘‘You know I mean 
why on earth did you make such a muddle of the whole thing! 
Because you did. A most disgraceful muddle. You know quite 
well you were very sorry when she chucked you.” 

“ How do you know anything about it ? ” 

“Wliy, of course, Janey told Jeannie, and Jeannie told me. 
Of course I promised not to tell.” 

“And of course you’ve told! But what does your wife think 
was Miss Spencer’s reason for breaking it off ! ” 

“ Because you didn’t go about it the right way.” 

“ Which is the right way ? Wkat did you say ? ” 

“What did I say? Nothing at all! That’s just the point. I 
expect you palavered too much.’^ 

“But, Bony! You must have said something — or perhaps you 
wrote a letter ? ” 

“ The idea ! A letter, indeed ! However, if you want to know, 
I’ll tell you. We’d been having great fun at her Father’s that 
evening — ^you came at the end of September, wasn’t it? Well! 
This was Midsummer full moon I know. Jeannie came down the 
garden path to see me off the premises — ^you know the path outside 
that conservatory passage place — and when we got to the gate 
Jeannie gathered a rose to stick in my buttonhole and got rather 

close because it didn’t work in easy, and I ” The narrative 

hitched very slightly and I supplied the hiatus. 

“You’d better confess it all while you’re about it, old chap. 
Now, on your honour! How often did you kiss Jeannie?” 

“ I didn’t count ’em, old boy,” said Bony, looking rather guilty. 
“P’Faps Jeannie recollects. We heard my present Mother-in- 
law coming after us, and I got away. But it established a mutual 
understanding, and made explanations only necessary to by- 
standers. Old Mac was rather in a rage and said he couldn’t bear 
anything underhand. I can’t see that there was anything under- 
hand about it. Jeannie was there, and I was there, and what 
more could you want ? ” 

“ What, indeed ! But you know, Bony dear, people are different. 
For one thing Janey was twenty, and Jeannie was ” 


264 


JOSEPH VANCE 


" Seventeen. But I don^t believe it was that, Joseph. I don’t 
believe you were quite in earnest.” 

“ I think I was though,” said I, weakly. And Bony riposted 
incisively — “ Stuff and nonsense ! No one thinks he’s in earnest. 
He knows he is, or he knows he isn’t.” 

^You think that I ought to have gone about it the way you 
did.” 

I don’t know that. But I do think you ought to have been 
quite unable to help going about it that way under the same 
circumstances, and I’m afraid you weren’t. Hookey, how late it 
is! Jeannie expects me home early to dress for dinner at 
Phillipses.” 

I sat in the half-dark when Bony had gone, wondering how far 
his belief was right. I could picture to myself the summer night, 
the leafy hush of the still garden, the smell of the roses, and the 
lovely face that the crying need for one in his buttonhole had 
brought so near to his own — and the natural consequences! How 
could it have been otherwise? But change the characters! It 
seemed disloyal — in feeling — to try such an experiment of im- 
agination on poor Janey. But how should I have behaved? Let 
me shut my eyes and think — ^Well! honestly now, I believe, as a 
matter of fact, I might have done the very selfsame thing. 

But,” cried Joe No. 2, breaking a long silence, could you not 
have shaken hands decorously, like a well-behaved young gentle- 
man ? If you had tried, mind you, if you had tried ? ” I owned I 
thought I might, with self-restraint. 

“ But then,” cried he again, and I flinched at what was coming, 
“ how if it had been Lossie ? ” 

Yes, that was the question! How if it had been Lossie? 

I sat on in the twilight, forgetting everything, even the Mac- 
allister Bepeater, dreaming of a past that for the moment became 
more real than my surroundings — more real than myself, for that 
matter. 

I was brought to by a recrudescence of Pheener with the lamp. 
I was not grateful, for though I was aware of the necessity for 
the existence of a sad young man in the dark (to do the recollect- 
ing), still the things he remembered were happiness such as he 
could not make Hope beckon out of the future; and for the 
moment the whole of the present had slipped away. 

‘^Cook says. Sir,” said Pheener, when she had established the 
Lamp, shall she put the soles down to do, or wait any longer for 
If aster ? ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


265 


I remembered that my Father had said something about being 
late because he was on an Arbitration job and he was acting jointly 
with a couple of other charackters in the Building line, and he 
couldn’t be sure how long they mightn’t go on fooling. He im- 
plied that, if alone, he would make short work of any decision as 
dinner-time approached. In fact, he had an infallible guide for 
all Beferees. “ Be as unfair as you can to ’em all ! Make ’em 
swear at you, one same as t’other! In six weeks they’ll be saying 
give me Wance for an Arbitrator! ” 

Let’s see what o’clock it is now, Pheener,” said I. And it had 
actually gone eight. “ I had no idea it was so late. But there’s 
nothing that will spoil ? ” 

Oh law, no. Master Joseph. It’s only soles and rumpsteak.” 

Suppose we wait till half -past and give him a chance.” And 
Pheener departed to tell the cook. 

We gave him the chance, and as he did not return I devoured 
one of the soles, and disfigured the rumpsteak, under the inspec- 
tion of Pheener. Nothing is more hateful than gormandizing 
under a supervision which you know is taking stock of your 
generosity or stinginess, in grabbing the best bits for yourself or 
leaving them for later comers. Of course one hopes they have 
another piece of steak all to themselves in the kitchen — but the 
principle is the same. I tried to keep down the Socialisms that 
boiled up within me, urging me to ask Pheener to share the 
banquet, by chatting amiably with her about the state of trade and 
so forth. It softened the invidious inequality. 

hope the Soles are cheaper than they were, Pheener?” 
For, with nobody to countenance me, I felt I was Lucullus. 

^‘Indeed they’re not. Master Joseph. These were two and 
three.” I thought I would change the subject. 

‘‘ What’s become of that chap that had to be taken to the Police 
Station very carefully because he’d cut his throat and they were 
afraid the bandages wouldn’t hold ? ” 

Oh — that Henderson chap ? The magistrate cautioned him, 
and he promised not to do it again. But he was back at the Court 
three days after for feloniously intermarrying Mrs. Henderson, 
his first wife being still alive.” 

Gracious, Pheener ! You don’t mean to say he went and got 
married with his throat in that state ! ” 

“Law no. Master Joseph, of course not! He’s been married 
twenty-two years and got fourteen children. And the first party 
she turned up intoxicated, and said she’d have his liver out. So 
he tried to cut his throat.” 


266 


JOSEPH VANCE 


‘‘ I don’t see that any other course was open to him.” 

‘‘Beg pardon. Master Joseph?” 

“Don’t see what else the poor chap could do. But there was 
a Henderson who did plumber’s work for the Governor — is he a 
relation ? ” 

“ Oh yes — ^he’s his brother. But that’s no rule ! ” And then 
Pheener went on without solving an enigma that forced itseK into 
my mind. “/ call it all a fuss about nothing — I should lock her 
up ! ” I let the enigma alone in favour of a question I wanted to 
ask Pheener. I was convinced my Father had dined out some- 
where, and would be late, and I thought it a good opportunity. 

“ I say, Pheener ! The other day — ^you know what I mean — was 
your Master ? ” I hesitated. 

“Yes, Master Joseph — Pm afraid he was. Not much, you know, 
but a little.” 

“ I know. But, Pheener, do tell me ! What was it making you 
all laugh in the kitchen ? ” 

Pheener’s manner changed, and she stood looking at the pattern 
on the carpet, and winding and unwinding an apron-tape on her 
finger. 

“ Did you hear us. Master J oseph ? ” 

“ Yes, Pheener — do tell me ! ” 

“You mustn’t be angry ” 

“ Angry with you ? Indeed I won’t ! ” 

“ I didn’t mean me. I meant the Master.” 

“With my Father? I promise you I won’t. Only tell me!” 
Pheener hesitated still a little, and then said : “ He had only said 
what he’s said before — once or twice. — Whenever he gets — like 
that, you know, he wants me to marry him. Do please not bo 
angry. Master Joseph.” 

I won’t disguise that I was a little shocked — but I do hope I 
didn’t show it too plainly. 

“ What did you say to him, Pheener ? ” said I after a pause — 
rather a long one. 

“ I said he wasn’t sober, and he said he was all right, as far as 
that went. But he wasn’t, and he never is when he says things. 
And then he wanted to know what I should have said if he had 
been sober.” 

I really could hardly keep back a smile. My poor dear old 
Dad ! “ I say, Pheener,” said I. “ Tell me the truth now and 
I won’t be angry. What would you have said ? ” 

“Oh, Master Joseph, do only think how I nursed the Missis— 
and how I’ve seen to his linen all these years — and how I’ve tried 


JOSEPH VANCE 


261 

(and I have tried) to put away the Whiskey -bottle ” and Phee- 

ner burst into tears. 

Bubbubut/’ said she, through her sobs, I wouwouldn’t say 
yes, and I wowon’t say yes, as long as he’s the least — like that! 
And he’ll never say it when he’s sober,” said she, clearing up. 

So where’s the use of talking ? ” 

And Pheener wiped her eyes and brought the pudding. 

I couldn’t see the use of talking either. So I merely said a 
word or two of absolution to the poor girl — it was no fault of 
hers! — and lit a cigar as she brought in the coffee. 

I was so near having to dry my own eyes once or twice as I 
sat there thinking, that I should not have been sorry for a visitor. 
However, none came, so there I sate, and to take my mind off 
more painful themes, wondered what Mrs. Macallister’s Baby 
would be like! I also wondered rather timorously what Lossie’s 
little boy was like, for Lossie had one, now a year and a half old. 
She had written of him, at the date of his debut. He is so 
exactly like Hugh — he really only wants a uniform to be put on 
the staff at once. Only the Eegulations are so strict about size ! ” 
and later that his likeness to his Father had gone off and he was 
getting like his Uncle Joey. Then I made myself quite needlessly 
uncomfortable by thinking, suppose I am ever given the Baby to 
play with, and accidentally drop it into a sewer, or sit upon it a long 
time without finding it out and smother it, how shall I face Bony ? 
I got so wretched over this gratuitous effort of self-torture that 
to shake it off I went out and finished my cigar in the street. 

As I returned from a short saunter I saw a hansom cab coming 
in the opposite direction. The Fare was communicating through 
his lid, and the driver accepting his suggestions after eliciting 
confirmation; as his last remark, Not if you don’t speak plain,” 
seemed to show. He then added that he wasn’t drunk, for one! 
This seemed to carry an implication, and I quickened my steps. 
I was just in time to help my Father up, for his foot appeared tp 
catch as he got out, and he stumbled on the pavement. 

He’s all right,” said the cabby, with a kind of gratified air, 
as one who had acquired an interest in a patient. And then 
added in explanation that another half -pint would do it, showing 
that by all right ” he really meant all wrong. If he had been a 
cabman of good feeling he would have driven away on receipt of a 
shilling too much, instead of standing at the door as if his part 
was to begin again soon, like the drum in an orchestra. 

I got my Father into the house, and heard 2002 and his horse, 
and a policeman and his bull’s-eye, comparing notes for several 


268 


JOSEPH VANCE 


minutes after. Then they dispersed with raised voices of fare- 
well, and wheels rolled one way and boots tramped the other. 

My poor Dad was very nearly (if not quite) quite drunk — ^he 
was, in fact, worse than I remembered seeing him since one or 
two horrible recollections of babyhood. He evidently did not be- 
lieve he had tumbled down, but he thought somebody else had, 
and wanted to go back and pick them up. With his usual candour 
he admitted his shameful condition, but seemed consoled by re- 
flecting that his fellow Arbitrators, with whom he had dined, 
were a something sight worse than he. He said I should have 
seen them, and was really sorry I had lost the opportunity. I 
got him to bed and locked him into his room, and went to rest 
myself humiliated and heartbroken. 

Whether I was wise to talk about it to Pheener next day, I 
don^t know. But I felt so lonesome that I could not resist seeking 
for sympathy; especially in a quarter where the ice was already 
broken, and no further harm seemed likely to be done. She made 
me much more cheerful by making light of the occurrence. I 
take it to be a mark of the tacit respect men really have for 
women^s idea of right and wrong, that whenever a man feels 
ashamed of himself or others, nothing is so consolatory to him as 
to be pooh-poohed by female authority. 

Only think now,^^ said she, of the Master tumbling down on 
the pavement and never knowing it. But they never will believe 
it, not if it^s ever so ! ’’ And I thought I remembered more than 
one exactly similar occurrence in fiction. There was something 
soothing to me about PheenePs analysis of drunkenness; although 
I have no idea why I deferred to a kind of claim on her part, of 
knowing more about it than I did myself. Was it akin to Fringes 
parade of his mathematical ignorance as a vantage ground for the 
refutation of scientific conclusions? I don’t believe she knew 
more about drunkenness from personal experience than Pring 
did about mathematics. But both took a superior tone with 
me. 

I had also another motive than want of sympathy in talking to 
Pheener. She had gone up very high in my estimation from her 
resolution not to accept my Father unless he offered her a sober 
hand and heart. How many young women in her position would 
have surrendered at discretion! Consider the worldly improve- 
ment to a girl like Pheener! And yet, solely from her regard for 
him and his dead wife, she refused to jump at an offer made in an 
irre^onsible condition, although she knew perfectly well that offer 


JOSEPH VANCE 


269 


would be held binding. Do many women resist temptation on 
those lines? Do any men? 

I felt I was making some return for this good conduct of 
Pheener, by showing my confidence in her, and talking freely on 
the subject that interested us both. 

‘‘I shan’t stop and see him, Pheener,” said I; “Pd better not. 
I should go out, anyhow; so I shall go out. Pm not going to 
Church — I shall go for a walk.” Which looks as if my birthday 
fell on a Saturday. I suppose it did, for, drunk or sober over- 
night, my Father would not have lain in bed late any day but 
Sunday. “ I shall go for a walk, and just you do as I tell you — 
I know I can trust you. Don’t give him the Whiskey when he 
asks for it, and say I’ve taken it away. I shan't take it away, 
because it wouldn’t be any use. He’d get more. But I want him 
to know what I think.” 

All right. Master Joseph,” said Pheener. And I went for a 
walk towards Wimbledon Common, and after a refreshing couple 
of hours came back through Upper Tooting and stopped at Poplar 
ViUa. 


CHAPTEE XXXI 


fiU\ DR. THORPE WAS IN TROUBLE HIMSELF, FOR THAT BEPPINO IS HT 
i*, SGRACE. Nolly’s opinion about beppino’s friends, how bep- 
PINO WAS thrashed. A PASSIONATE ADMIRATION. BEP REALLY 
VAIN OF IT. HOW JOE WAS UNFEELING TO HIM. HOW PHEENER 
TOOK AWAY THE BOTTLE. 

When one goes to a friend for sympathy, it is always safer to 
hear a little about his affairs before one begins to air one’s own 
grievance, as he may be worse off than oneself. Luckily, I kept 
mine back when I first entered the Library at Poplar Villa, where 
I found Nolly and his father evidently very much depressed; and 
then, when I had heard the cause of their depression, decided that 
I would keep my Jeremiads about my own miseries for a future 
occasion. I selected a genial manner to say Nothing wrong, I 
hope ? ” in ; and felt that it was successful, as far as concealment 
of my own ^‘something wrong” went. Nolly and the Doctor 
looked at one another, and gave a variety of doubtful hums and 
grunts, mostly interrogative. The latter postponed a pinch of 
snuff, and waited for responses from Nolly, who scratched his 
left temple slowly, and replied with a question. What ought we 
to say ? ” 

shouldn’t say anything, only it’s Joe,” said the Doctor. 

Being Joe, perhaps the fairest thing to say is that Joey has been, 
making an ass of himself. No! I don’t think it’s worse than 
that.” This was in reply to anticipated exception taken by Nolly, 
who thereon evidently locked up an opinion that, whatever it was, 
it was worse; but was none the less not sorry to lock it up, as his 
father took the responsibility. 

What’s the Poet been doing ? ’^ I asked. 

‘^Making love to his friends^ wives,” grunted Nolly. And I 
gave a very short whew, with a very long gamut. 

“ Only one, Nolly, only one ! ” said his father. Let’s he fair, 
even to Parnassus.” 

‘‘Only one at a time,” said Nolly. “We shall have more 
anon ! ” 

“ No, no, Noll ! You’re too hard on your brother. Let’s be fair I 

270 


JOSEPH VANCE 271 

Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, and I presume the 
wiggings also. Mrs. Tripey may be exceptional.^^ 

By this time the dialogue had told me the whole story, being 
helped by previous information. Beppino, as I always called him 
because his sister called him so, had been constantly at the house 
of Thornberry, with whom he had been on intimate terms since the 
bathing adventure at Lynmouth. Thornberry had married; but 
not the young lady of the entozoid, which his vitals had survived. 
The Poet had been a constant visitor at his friend’s house, almost 
an inmate; and I understood was writing a poem which was to be 
a kind of diary of Helen of Troy, in Spenserian Stanzas. It was 
necessary to have recourse to a model for Helen, to stimulate his 
ideal. As long as the mode^ didn’t try to be like the original, this 
was no doubt all right enough; but a little too much dramatic 
fervour might evidently create a dangerous position. I have never 
been very fond of saying ‘‘I told you so,” because every one else 
always does, and has spoken first; but on this occasion I did so, 
just for once. 

^^What on earth did you expect?” I asked. Hr. Thorpe took 
his long-postponed pinch of snulf, and Nolly said, Exactly ! ” 

“ Why,” I continued, there was Beppino going about with that 
silly, pretty goose (she’s pretty enough, but she is a goose), taking 
her to the play and Marshall & Snelgrove’s, and all the time mak- 
ing believe she was Helen of Troy! What was Menelaus about 
all the while ? ” 

^^What was he about at Sparta? However, thank God the 
imitation of the original stopped short in time. Helen still 
adorns the hearth of Menelaus.” And then Hr. Thorpe got a well- 
deserved sneeze, which it would have been rude to talk into, so we 
left him to resume his observations. ^^No — the real truth is 
simply that Joey has been an Ass, and the girl has been 
a goose.” 

Nolly looked incredulous. ‘^If so,” said he, “I don’t see how 
you justify Thornberry — there could have been no sufficient 

ground for thrashing an old friend ” I interjected, ^‘Hid 

Thornberry thrash Bep ? ” and Nolly nodded briefly, and went on — • 
^^an old friend whom he was allowing his wife to go about with 
like this, unless ” And Nolly pulled up sharp. 

“Unless Paris?” said his father expressively. And Nolly again 
said, “ Exactly.” I began asking what was Beppino’s own version 
of the facts; but stopped, as the Hoctor’s next remarks seemed to 
me to cover the ground. 

“I think, Noll, some weight ought to be attached to Joey’s own. 


272 


JOSEPH VANCE 


statement. I think you are inclined to he hard upon him. Ke- 
member that he indignantly resents any accusation — of a Parisian 

nature ” And I thought I discerned, in the tone of the 

speaker, satisfaction at the discovery of a telling adjective. 

I daresay. But then in the same breath he says that even were 
it true, it would be his duty to resent it indignantly.” 

So it would. But when we recollect that Helen and Menelaus 
are still at Dulwich (it was Sparta — now it’s Dulwich) I think 
we ought to be satisfied. We have practically the word of all 
three. That should exonerate.” 

And the Doctor walked about the Library uneasily. I could 
see he was very miserable and uncomfortable, and I resolved I 
would say nothing to him about my misdemeanant. It would do 
equally well another time. Besides, it was only for consolation to 
myseK — I did not anticipate his being able to give any direct 
help in my own difficulty. After one or two turns up and down 
the room, during which I endeavoured to give an exculpatory and 
hopeful tone to the conversation, he stopped and asked if Beppino 
was in his den. Yes, he was. Very well, then! He would go up 
and have a look at him; and presently we heard his voice and the 
delinquent’s from afar. 

If the Governor gives him a good blowing up, it may do him 
good, even at his present age. But it’s a pity he hasn’t done it 
oftener, to my thinking.” Thus Nolly, who then went on to 
improve the occasion in the sense which some rather one-sided 
views inspired. “You see what comes of Music and Poetry. 
They’re all alike. He’s got in with a gang of artists, as they call 
themselves. I should call some of them Authors and Musicians; 
but they all talk of themselves as Artists, and say they mustn’t 
be interfered with. It’s no use telling them they’re fools.” 

“ About the same use as telling other men they are focls, isn’t 
it?” 

“ Oh no ! Much less. They are connected with the Press. 
When they are told they’re fools, they get a friend to insert a 
paragraph in a newspaper to say they’re not.” 

“But haven’t they plenty of enemies who write opposition 
paragraphs, to say they are ? ” 

“ That’s exactly what they want ! As long as the shuttlecock is 
struck at both ends, it keeps up. It’s as I say — Painters and 
Poets and Musicians are all alike.” And Nolly growled indig- 
nantly and lit a cigar. 

“Come, I say now, Nolly, all Painters and Musicians don’t 
make love to their friends’ wives.” Nolly wasn’t quite prepared t<* 


JOSEPH YANCE 


273 


admit this, but when pressed allowed that there were occasional 
exceptions. Even then he wouldn’t let them off altogether. 
" Some of them,” said he, behave themselves with common 
decency because it’s good taste, but none because it’s right.” 

I know a lot of most hard-working men, whom I should myself 
call great painters and sculptors, whose lives are blameless enough 
to please Mrs. Grundy herself.” 

Ah yes — but these chaps of Beppino’s are Artists — real 
Artists — ^who do precious little work. When they do it’s inspired, 
and nobody can see the beauty of it outside their own circle. 
The chaps you mean are always pegging away, and aren’t in- 
spired at all.” 

‘‘Well — never mind them! Tell me more about this business.’' 

“ I expected it all, you know, and wasn’t surprised. You 
wouldn’t have been if you’d seen them at Thornberry’s. I went 
there once — twice. There was Beppino playing and singing old 
songs to Mrs. Tripey and her sisters. Ugh ! ” 

“ Well — but that was no harm, anyhow.” 

“Not if they hadn’t spooned and fawned over the cub as they 
did. And then they made him read his Poems! Faugh!” 

“ What did he read ? ” 

“Don’t you know his beastly poem, ‘A Trilogy of Fair Women,' 
— Jezebel, Messalina, and Mary Magdalen, I think they were? He 
might at least have softened some of the Scriptural expressions.” 
From which it will be seen that Nolly objected to Anglo-Saxon 
authorized versions of Oriental ideas, as much as Lossie had 
done. 

“ But,” I asked him, “ what brought about the split between 
Menelaus and Paris? And how did it get to thrashing point?” 

“ Weill All we know is that yesterday we came back from 
— I had called at the Museum in Jermyn Street for the 
Governor — and when we got to the house we heard a great row 
going on; and the Governor said, ‘Why, that’s Joey’s friend 
Thornberry’s voice.' And so it was. His voice and my precious 
little brother’s, in great trepidation.” 

“What was Tripey saying?” 

“As near as I caught it, it was, ‘You miserable little sneak! 
If you dare to say that. I’ll thrash you again.’ — ‘ Say what ? ' says 
Joey, — ‘Say Emily encouraged you,' says Thornberry. ‘You 
know it’s a lie as well as I do.’— ‘ I did— didn’t mean to say that,' 
says Joey, humbly, ‘I only m-raeant to say it’s wasn’t all me.' — 
‘ That's every bit as bad,' says Tripey, flashing out at him.— ‘ Oh 
no — please, no,' says Joey. We heard all this on the other side 


2Y4 


JOSEPH VANCE 


of the fence — involuntary eavesdroppers. Then we came in, and 
I sang out, ^ WhaPs the row ? ’ ” 

“ And what was the row ? At least, what was the explanation ? ” 
Joey gave his to the Governor, who took him away, into the 
house. I walked away with Thornberry. I quite sympathized 
with him, and I think in his position I should have done exactly 
what he did.” 

understand that he chastised Master Joey, who of course 
couldnT do anything in the w'ay of self-defence. Wasn’t that it? ” 

‘‘Well! It was, rather. I’m sorry to say. It wasn’t like that at 
my school. Nor yours?” 

“ Far from it ! Too far, I should say. No matter how small 
you were, ‘ Hit back first, and think about it after ’ was the rule at 
St. Withold’s. We accepted the injunction to offer the other cheek 
to the smiter, as meaning that we ought to give him another op- 
portunity of provoking us behind the Cloisters where the fights 
were. But what was Tripey’s account of the business?” 

“ Much what you might suppose ! His wife came to him and 
complained of Bep having ‘ forgotten himself,’ whatever that 
means, and said it was his duty to speak seriously. Of course 
Tripey wouldn’t allow that Helen had been leading ]?aris on. Oh 
dear, no! ” 

“I like him for that.” 

“So do I. Not a bad boy, Tripey! All the same she had led 
him on, keeping herself quite within the letter of the law, of 
course. And then the stupid little idiot — I’m half sorry for him 
all the while — ^being human myself ” 

“ And then the stupid little idiot ?” 

“ Well! As he expressed it to his father — he gets ‘ overtaken by 
a passionate admiration’ for the minx — that’s not the governor’s 
expression, of course — and then the Apsley Packets suddenly 
entered au fond du theatre, and there was a tableau ! ” 

“ If the Apsley Packets had come in five minutes sooner Bep 
would have been sitting on a chair at a respectful distance nursing 
his hat and cane, and being a real visitor. If they hadn’t come in 
at all Mrs. T. wouldn’t have rushed away to complain.” 

“ I don’t think we can wonder at her. Old Mrs. Apsley Packet 
was there. It wasn’t only the young ones. The old lady was 
Mrs. Candour in this performance. But I tell you seriously, 
Joe, that I think it was a good job Mrs. Candour came in — Bep’s 
weakness itself in this direction. However, he shouldn’t have 
said that about ‘ encouragement ’ to the lady’s husband. That was 
what made Tripey flare up. I must be off! I shall be late at 


JOSEPH VANCE 


275 


Hampstead.” And Nolly departed, begging that I would soften 
things for his father as much as possible. I thought he might 
have done so more himself. But had he a still worse view of the 
imbroglio than he had actually admitted? 

As I said nothing to Dr. Thorpe about my own affairs on the 
top of the Beppino scandal, and fortunately he had had no time 
to notice my own depression before he told me the cause of his, 
he remained quite ignorant of my Father’s serious lapse; and 
when I parted from him late in the evening, I had, I hope, made 
his Sunday afternoon less miserable than it would otherwise have 
been. Nolly went away to the Spencers’ at Hampstead, to say 
good-bye to the Alison Farquharsons. They had been back from 
his coffee plantations for a holiday, and were just starting again 
for Ceylon. You remember perhaps that this was Sarita Spen- 
cer’s married name? As for Master Beppino, he kept out of the 
way. Ann reported that he was writing in his room — writing a 
few lines on to Helen of Troy, I suppose! 

What do you make of the Poet, Doctor ? ” said I, as we sat in 
the Library together after lunch. 

‘‘Pm not happy about him, Joe. Can’t pretend I am. He 
doesn’t seem to me properly ashamed of himself. He disclaims 
any real offence with indignation; but constantly lets out an 
implication that a man does no real wrong if he makes love te 
his friends’ wives under reservation. I can’t make out quite 
whether he considers this sort of thing as a privilege to which 
poets and artists and persons of geist are to be admitted, on the 
ground that good taste would never break the seventh command- 
ment. Perhaps he does.” 

“ I’m not a person of geist, so I’m no judge. If I had been the 
little brother of a child I found weeping in the street this morning, 
I should have done exactly what he did. He had been lent a half- 
sucked pear-drop on condition that he should only take one suck 
and give it back, and as soon as he’d fairly got it in his mouth 
he ran away. But then I don’t want other little boys’ pear-drops.” 

‘‘I see the application of the story. Let us hope Joey will get 
a new pear-drop all to himself. I find a sort of satisfaction in 
talking as if he was a baby. In fact, I’m grateful for your 
comparison.” 

The Doctor dwelt a good deal on this idea ; and then we chatted 
of other matters. He never alluded now to the termination of my 
engagement to Jane Spencer. I had, of course, talked of it to him 
at the time; but we had both steered clear of the real underlying 
reason, though each saw the other’s mind. All the same, I knew 


tie 


JOSEPH VANCE 


perfectly well that in his heart he had hoped for a new pear-drop 
for me, all to myself, as well as for the Poet. I asked him whether 
he thought Nolly was in the way to anything of that sort, and he 
replied, ^‘Well — I shouldn't like to say — things are always going 
on. Nothing at this moment though, I fancy.” 

So I did not catechize him, and presently he said he had got 
the wrong spectacles, and would go and get the others. He could 
find them best himself. 

I heard a furtive footstep outside. It was Master Beppino, who 
had seized the opportunity of his father’s absence — not being, I 
suppose, very keen for publicity — to come and gather the opinions 
of Europe about his escapade. I shouldn’t word it this way; only 
that I found before he had been two minutes in the room with me, 
that he was really very vain of it. 

‘‘Come in and show your face, Bep,” said I; “I hear you’ve 
been distinguishing yourself ? ” 

“Oh no, Joe Vance,” said he. I can’t pretend to spell or 
describe his mincing and drawling accent; but it may give some 
clue to it that he distinctly called me Juvence. “You mustn’t 
quite say that! You shouldn’t be so severe on a poor chap — not 
for this sawt of thing ! ” I expressed uncertainty about what the 
sort of thing was, and found that the “ poor chap ” was deriving 
much satisfaction from leaving it in doubt. He evidently was 
hanging longingly on the outskirts of Don Juan, so to speak, and 
was reluctant to give up such honours as he felt entitled to. 

“When a gyairl like Emily Thornberry ” said Beppino, and 

then went off at a tangent. “ However, I’m reely not qualified to 
say anything about Tripey. He’s an excellent fellow and all that 
sort of thing. But a gyairl like Emily asks for more ” 

“ Y ou didn’t ask for more yesterday when you had your licking, 
anyhow, Bep?” 

“Oo — Juvence! How can you be so — hrootle!^^ 

“ Well ! ” said I, “ perhaps I am rather brutal. Why, he’s double 
your size ! ” It really was impossible to wash one’s mind of the 
idea of the extreme youth of the delinquent. His further apolo- 
gies (or self-gratulations) were cut short by Dr. Thorpe’s return. 
“I stayed to put my boots on, Joe,” said he. “I’ll walk back a 
bit of the way with you.” 

And he accompanied me as far as Clapham Common, and then 
turned back, putting up his umbrella in a drizzle that had begun. 
I made my way home chilled and dejected. 

My Father had not gone to bed. He was in a heavy snoring 
sleep in the big leather armchair in the Snuggery, with his silk 


JOSEPH VANCE 


211 


handkerchief over his head as usual. There was no bottle on the 
table beside him, and I inferred that the faithful Pheener had been 
more than true to her trust. I thought it best to rouse the sleeper. 
“IPs all right, Nipper dear,” said he, “it’s all right. I’m 
ashamed of myself — don’t you fret ! ” 

I could have cried outright like a child. “ Oh, Daddy, Daddy,” 
said I, “ don’t talk of it — ^let it alone. What does it matter ? ” 

But my Father was not going to accept assistance from prevari- 
cation. “ P’r’aps nothing matters,” said he. “ But it seems to 
me this matters as much as anything else. Fm not going to 
occur again, though — not if I can help it! I’ve made a begin- 
ning straight off. Little Clementina’s took away the bottle ! ” 

I couldn’t help laughing at this and felt almost cheerful — the 
first time that day. “Never mind. Dad,” said I, “we’ll get it 
all right somehow.” 

He evidently thought that he had made enough confession to 
justify a review of extenuating circumstances. “ Champagne,” 
said he, “is pison, even Voove Click-what, and a man can’t check 
what he swallers. I wasn’t singin’ though, Nipper, was I?” — I 
said certainly not! 

“ Not ^ a Landlady of France she loved an Officer, ’tis said,’ nor 
^ stick ’em up again in the middle of a three-cent pie’ ? ” 

“ Neither of them — quite certain.” My Father seemed reassured. 
“ That’s something, anyhow,” said he. “ The other Arbitrators 
was singin’ both. Likewise ‘ Rule Britannia.’ Weak-headed 
cards, the two on ’em ! ” 

“I’m afraid you won’t get any change out of that. Dad,” 
said I, “because you never do sing.” My Father ignored the 
elenchus. 

“ One of these cards,” pursued he, apparently with a view of 
showing the unmusical character of his companion, “ was a ship- 
builder — Pother’s a housebreaker!” I made a comment. “Not 
a professional ’and. It’s a business, is housebreaking, and a pay- 
ing one at that. He gives you a estimate and pulls you down 
and carts you away off the ground at so much a load, or pays you 
so much down for your carcase. Then when you rebuild he sells 
you your stock brick back at a pound a thousand took as they 
rise bats and all, and you charges them on as noo if the Clerk of 
Works don’t cut in or won’t take a fiver to hold his tongue.” 

“ That doesn’t sound honest — to an outsider.” 

“IPs honest if you saj^s as I do to the customers, ‘Here’s me 
and Coxeter & Bulstrode (that’s his firm — his name’s Sims) — are 
going to lie and cheat and ewade our obligations as hard as ever w© 


278 


JOSEPH VANCE 


can — so just you see that it’s allowed for in the schedule or con- 
tract, as the case may be ” 

These revelations paused on the entrance of Pheener with a 
tray on which I perceived a whiskey-bottle with hot water and 
lemons. 

“ I did just like you said, Master Joseph,” said she. I wasn’t 
going to let him have it, and he didn’t have it. But I told him 
I’d bring it in when you came back. They do say it’s best not to 
cut ’em off altogether.” 

Pheener said this as one who had been in the way of good 
authorities; so I took her word for it, especially as I thought I 
had somewhere heard the same thing myself, and mixed a reason- 
able nightcap for my Father. Pheener removed the bottle 
religiously as soon as ever I had poured out a wineglassful. My 
poor Daddy sat looking on, with a rather ridiculous half-rueful 
expression on his face. All right,” said he, you carry it off 
and lock it up. I won’t marry you if you don’t,” which was a 
funny way of landing such an important subject suddenly on 
the tapis. Pheener’s way of receiving it was original, and did 
her credit, to my thinking. If,” she said, I have to carry 
away the whiskey from all the gentlemen that ain’t going to marry 
me, I shall have my hands full. Master Joseph,” and disappeared 
with it, wishing us good-night with perfect gravity. 

“Little Clementina’s a nice girl,” said my Father, hanging 
over his grog as there was no more coming, and making the most 
of it. “ What’s your opinion, Nipper ? ” 

My opinion was favourable as far as it went; but awaited 
development of the subject. It came. 

“I shouldn’t ’ave the ’art to marry again, after your mother, 
Joey — I’m a sort of male widder by nature. But if I wasn’t I 
might do worse than little Clementina,” and my Father lighted 
his pipe and paused for encouragement — which was not forth- 
coming. The fact is, I had gone to Dr. Thorpe hoping for 
guidance on this very point, which was impending; and now felt 
so sick with the difficulties of life, that I let him smoke his pipe 
out without saying anything, and then announced that I had a 
headache and should go to bed. It was past one o’clock before I 
turned in, after four-and-twenty of the most unsatisfactory hours 
I ever spent in my life. 

The subject may be said to have remained on the tapis by 
common consent, without any one pursuing it, or embarking on it, 
or trenching on it, or doing anything one does with subjects except 
avoiding it. Next Sunday I went again to Dr. Thorpe and found 


JOSEPH VANCE 


279 


Lim alone. Nolly had vanished to a great cricket match some- 
where in the country, and Beppino had shown a judicious delicacy; 
going away to his rooms at Oxford. 

“ He’s somewhere else, at any rate,” said the Doctor, and for 
the present I can’t say I’m sorry. How’s your father ? ” 

“ I wanted to talk about him, Doctor. He’s been giving trouble 
again. Poor old Dad ! ” 

‘^Poor old Joe,” said the Doctor, looking at me wistfully. 
*^Walk round the garden and tell me all about it.” 

The pears were a poor and late crop this year. For to-day 
must have been the twenty-sixth, as my birthday was the eight- 
eenth, and the fruit was not near picking yet. We noticed this 
with a common consciousness of old memories, and then I went 
back to my Father. I narrated the occurrence of yesterday week. 

But,” said I, it is 'possible that he was really mistaken about 
how much champagne he could safely take, as he rarely drinks 
anything but whiskey. He was upset at Vi’s wedding, but was 
very good for a long time after.” I always spoke of it as Vi’s 
wedding — never Lossie’s. 

Let’s make the most we can of it, anyhow — give good fortune 
the benefit of the doubt. But you say Seraphina Dowdeswell (it 
tickles me so that name, that I always say it when I can) — 
Seraphina Dow’deswell beards the lion in his den and carries away 
his whiskey-bottle ? ” 

This led naturally to a narrative of my conversation with 
Pheener on the Saturday at dinner, and of how my Father had 
angled for my sanction since. “ I shouldn’t like,” said I, to say 
anything to influence, one way or the other, unless ” 

“ Unless what ? ” 

“ Unless you advised me to.” 

Go along with you, Joe! Putting the responsibility ofi on 
me! However, I’ll think about it.” We said nothing further 
then, but when we were sitting together that evening he resumed 
the subject. 

“ I’ve been thinking it well over, J oe, and I’m of opinion — now 
you mustn’t be shocked — ” I said I wouldn’t, and he took a very 
long pinch of snuff before proceeding — ^‘I’ve come to the con- 
clusion — that-they’d-better-be-married.” The middle of this re- 
mark was filled with a sneeze worthy of its provocation, and the 
last words came with a run. The Doctor then shut down the lid 
of his snuffbox rather as if he had married the couple and shut 
them both in, and gave two taps on the lid to record the number 
inside. 


280 


JOSEPH VANCE 


I^m only thinking of my Mother,” said I. 

“ ril be answerable for that. Your Mother would be certain to 
think first of your Father’s welfare. Besides, you may be pretty 
sure there’s a satisfactory arrangement on the other side. You may 
safely leave it all in God’s hands.” 

His spontaneous confidence in a hereafter was so strong that it 
often bubbled up like this, and could not be kept down. But he 
would then defer slightly to what he called Orthodoubt, apologiz- 
ing as it were to some supposititious Mrs. Grundy in whose eyes 
such confidence counted as indecency. 

Of course,” he continued, I shouldn’t say so if Vi was here. 
But when it’s only you and me we may be as improper as we like. 
It’s a very funny thing, though, when you come to think of it, 
that one should have one’s mouth shut on this subject by the 
Family Representative of Religion! It’s a curious Nemesis of 
the Correctitudes ” 

When I’m with you. Doctor, I always think as you do. When 
I’m alone I get frightened.” 

" Why should you be frightened, my dear boy ? After all, it’s a 
question of one’s sense of humour. If I were to catch myself 
non-existing after death, I should simply die of laughter. It 
would really be too absurd if the thing that did the knowing 
stopped, and the known was left entirely to its own devices. But 
you always say you don’t understand that idea. So let’s talk 
about your Father and let Metaphysics alone. What do you really 
think yourself, putting your Mother out of the question till we 
all get across ? ” 

^‘I think my Father’s chances of fighting his enemy would be 
greater with an ally.” 

‘^And you thinlc Clementina — ^no ! Seraphina — ^Dowdeswell 
would be a good ally?” 

“She’s the only one that offers. Perhaps it isn’t fair to say 
she’s offered. But she would accept.” 

“You see, my boy, it is in God’s hands. Just you leave it 
there.” 

I don’t know how far I was taking it out of the hands of the 
Almighty by saying to Pheener, as I did at the next opportunity, 
that next time my Father wanted to marry her she needn’t ask my 
leave. — Pheener merely said, “Yes, Master Joseph, thank you!” 
and the household went on as usual. But I felt raw and cold and 
thin, and that all the past I had known was sliding away from me, 
and no future was coming to take its place. Consolation had to be 
extracted from the activities of life; and I really believe that my; 


JOSEPH VANCE 


281 


Guardian Angel, or some other beneficent unseen agency, often 
staved off a too great oppression of melancholy which might have 
ended in a razor, by some sudden sweet suggestion of composite 
differential interchanging movements of axes of vibration — or 
some such thing. I haven’t the slightest idea what this one means, 
having put it together at random; but mechanisms of an equally 
bracing nature were often shot down from the blue to occupy my 
mind and avert suicide. I know of nothing like invention to make 
life palatable. 

But even in this field unpleasantness cropped up. For one day 
running my eyes through the advertisements in the Engineer I 
came suddenly on one with a beautiful picture that struck my 
mind as very familiar. And the text described it as McGaskin 
& Flack’s Spherical Engine with Double Reciprocity Movement! 
And annexed to that text were testimonials to the effect that it 
developed a circus-full of horses’ power on the brake more than 
was promised; that it had run a thousand hours without heating 
and would evidently have run a thousand more only for the Strike ; 
that its consumption of oil was so small that your little bottle you 
sent with it was still nearly full and so forth. I must say I was 
in a great rage, and it certainly did me good. 

“What do you think of that. Bony?” said I, throwing him 
the journal. And Bony gave one of his longest whistles on 
record. 

“Think,” said he. “What did I tell you, Joe Vance? That’s 
the man that called me underhand! I should like to know why 
it’s underhand to kiss an engineer’s daughter when she likes it. 
Anyhow, it’s much more underhand to pirate an invention,” 

“ Of course I could institute proceedings,” said I. “ I’ll see 
a solicitor about it.” 

“ No, you won’t, old chap, I know you too well.” And then 
something occurred to me. “ Why, of course,” I said, “ because o:f 
Mrs. Macallister and Mrs. Macallister’s baby. No, of course i 
shouldn’t — I didn’t recollect she was the old humbug’s daughter.'* 

“Now, you see what a double-dyed old sneak my respectable 
Father-in-law is. He knows perfectly well you won’t act, because 
of upsetting Jeannie. And he called me underhand, because I 
kissed, etc.,” and Bony enlarged at some length on his grievance, 
pointing out that if he had asked Jeannie to promise to marry him 
it would have been different. “But,” said I, ^^ou considered 
yourself bound to her?” He replied of course he did, adding, 
“ But then it was I did the kissing ! If she’d kissed me I should 
have considered it a promise.” 


282 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“ Whenever is that blessed baby coming. Bony ? 

It’s been due ever so long. And the nurse has another engage- 
ment next month. So if it doesn’t arrive in a fortnight there’ll 
be the Doose’s own Delight.” 

Satan missed this little gratification, for Archie junior ap- 
peared four days after the conversation. He in due course an- 
nounced, through his agents, his desire to enter the Christian 
Church as Archibald Stephenson Macallister, and invited me to 
be present on the occasion of his induction. 

I wasn’t at all sorry to have something to look forward to, as 
the plot continued to thicken at home — if there was a plot. I 
should have said that the author of the drama — if it was a drama ! 

• — was very unskilful, and lacked constructive power. For the 
approach of the climax was only shown by an increase of my 
Dad’s effrontery in representing Miss Dowdeswell as yearning for 
wedlock. ^^You keep your eyes on them boots, little Clementina, 
and see Cook doesn’t put ’em too near the fire, or I won’t marry 
you,” and “ You tell Cook the soup was all pepper — and blow her 
up sky-high, or I won’t marry you,” and “ Shut that door when 
you go out, or I won’t marry you, little Clementina,” are examples 
of the way in which he strove to envelop himself and Pheener in a 
sort of halo of Matrimony, with a view, as T thought, to make 
me the originator of a serious discussion on the subject. This 
conjecture proved true, for on my saying to him one day after 
dinner that I should really like to know how far he was merely 
joking, and whether he was not a little in earnest, he replied with 
a much nearer approach to seriousness, that she was a nice girl 
and one might do much worse than little Clementina. Very 
easily,” said I, ^‘but would you be more comfortable if you were 
to marry her ? ” 

^^Well, Nipper dear,” said he, after smoking a long time beside 
his allowance, conceded from a bottle Pheener had carried away, 

I won’t marry little Clementina nor anybody else ” He 

stopped without a full stop — perhaps with a comma — and waited 
for me to supply something he might contradict. I supplied it 
rather too late for dramatic effect, as I was watching a beautiful 
smoke ring I had despatched across the table. When it died away 
I merely said, Well, Daddy dear, I shan’t run away from here 
till you do ” 

Don’t you be in such a hurry, Nipper,” said he. I was going 
to say (only you must be interrupting) that I wouldn’t marry lit- 
tle Clementina or any one else, not without first consulting the 
Doctor.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


283 


^ Good Gracious, Dad/^ said I. Are you afraid of your lungs 
or your heart, or what^s the matter ? ’’ 

A certain placid satisfaction on my Father^s face showed me 
that he would soon find materials for a distinct statement in the 
opportunities for contradiction he was creating for himself. 

Nothin^ whatever,’^ said he. Never was better in my life!” 
Then I asked him why on earth did he want to consult the Doctor ? 
He replied with another question, and an air of injury. Did I 
ever know him consult a Doctor about his health ? If he had any- 
thing wrong with his witals, wasn’t a doctor the very last person he 
should consult — if I came to that, the only person in the world 
he shouldn’t consult? A light broke upon me, and I perceived 
that Dr. Thorpe was the intended arbiter. 

Why, of course, Nipper ! And I was tellin’ you so, only 
you interrupted me. The idea of me consultin’ a doctorin’ 
doctor ! ” 

But it struck me very strongly that, however complimentary 
such a reference might be, it would hardly be fair, after my late 
conversation with Dr. Thorpe, to throw such a responsibility on 
him. My Father cogitated a little, and admitted it. “Maybe 
you’re right,” said he. And he remained silent and reflective 
through a whole pipe. 

I never was surprised at anything my Father did. So when 
Pheener came in with the accustomed question — was there any- 
thing else? — I was scarcely taken aback at his replying, “Yes, 
little Clementina. You can marry me if you like,” and going on 
lighting a new pipe. Pheener stood half in the doorway as one 
who was waiting to hear what else there was, and said, “ What 
does Master Joseph say? ” Master Joseph interposed no obstacles. 
“ I think. Master,” said the young lady, “ I should like to speak to 
Cook, and tell you to-morrow.” 

I got away early to-morrow, leaving matters to arrange them- 
selves. On my return I found that Cook, a person of great 
delicacy of feeling, had advised Pheener that if she accepted 
Master, she was bound at once to fly the house and join her rela- 
tions in the country until the wedding-day. Accordingly, she 
packed her box, got a four-wheeler, and looked in at my Father 
at breakfast. “ I shall be very happy to, Master,” said she. “ All 
right, little Clementina,” said he. “Tell Cook another boiled 
egg,” which Pheener did, and then drove away before my Father 
realized the position. 

“I suppose it’s all right,” said he, when Cook appeared with 
the egg and an explanation, “but 1 call it ’umbuggin’.” 


284 


JOSEPH VANCE 


When I returned, finding that the matter might be regarded as 
settled, I arranged my own plans — and wrote to Lossie, of course — 
a very long letter this time. I thought I would defer sending it a 
little for fear of having to counter-write it all later. There might 
be slips between the cup and the lip. 


CHAPTEK XXXn 


How JOE MKT JAITBT AGAIN. HE IS LEFT ALONE WITH HER AND FEELS 
QUEER. HOW HE WILL WRITE IT ALL TO LOSSIE. MATCHMAKING 
JEANNIE. THEY ARE ALONE SOME MORE. A RAPPROCHEMENT ON 
BONY-JEANNIE LINES. HOW JOE’s WALK HOME WAS HAPPY. 

Archibald Stephenson Macallister's wishes must have been 
misrepresented, for he crumpled himself up and turned purple when 
presented for the sacred rite of Baptism. He raised a powerful 
voice in protest, and ended by sneezing violently, after which he 
gave it up as a bad job, and consoled himself with the bottle. 

I did not witness this personally, as there was some difficulty 
about his Father and myself both being absent from the Works at 
the same time. But I had a graphic account of it from Miss Jane 
Spencer. Master Archibald, in fact, served to pave the way to an 
easier relation between me and Janey. There had naturally been 
a certain stiffness, since our disruption. It could not well have 
been otherwise. But we had met occasionally by accident, and 
had had to accept the position as it stood, and do as much as 
possible to exempt bystanders from having to include us among 
their embarrassments. Appointments suddenly recollected by the 
one or the other had done great service in enabling us to bear our 
own. I think this Christening party, which I joined later in the 
day, was the first time she and I had met for nearly two years 
without possibility of retreat for either. 

She was just coming out of the tea-encumbered reception room 
as I went in, and we shook hands with a routine smile. And I 
know that Maisie Maxey, sixteen, who was standing by, made a 
mental note of our demeanour as probably the correct one for a 
couple that had “ broken it off,” and thought she was really seeing 
the world. I saw this fact in Miss Maxey^s large blue eyes, which 
stood wide-open like street doors. Then I went in and had tea, 
and went upstairs. There I came upon Master Macallister, who 
after a deep sleep following exhaustion from renouncing the 
Devil and all his works, had waked up and was being carried 
round to be shown to Society, select members of which were per- 
mitted to kiss him, but with caution and reserve. I was one of 

285 


286 


JOSEPH VANCE 


the privileged few — ^my relations with his father at St. Withold^s 
settled that! — and was told by Jeannie that it was ridiculous to 
complain (as I had done) that his cheek was too small to kiss! 
What could I expect at six weeks? — Wasn’t it absurd, Janey? 
Miss Spencer assented indignantly, and kissed him herself; it was 
the other cheek, so it did not prejudice our relations in any way. 
But it would have been stiff not to chat^ after such a narrow escape 
of kissing the same one. And thus it was that I came to have 
such a full account of the rebellious Paganism of Master Archie. 

Having given me these particulars on the subject of public 
interest — just as strangers converse freely and unbend at a Fire 
or a really satisfactory Accident, with loss of life, — it seemed to 
be only the natural course of things for Janey to say, “ I hope old 
Mr. Vance keeps well.” 

“ Oh yes, very well. You know he’s going to be married? ” 

No — indeed I didn’t ! ” And the valedictory atmosphere that 
hung about her last remark dispersed and interest awakened. But 
Janey evidently felt that discussion between us, with interest, 
would be a new departure ; and thought it belonged to the position 
not to embark on it without an apology. The hazel eyes looked 
straight at me. “ I may ask, mayn’t I ? ” said she ; “ I should so 
like to hear about it. You know I used to like your Father so 
much.” 

Used to! And no signalman on the railway of Life came out 
of a box and showed a red flag, as he should have done. If he 
was there, he was asleep. But not content with her mistake in 
referring to a closed chapter of our volume, Janey proceeded to 
make matters worse by calling special attention to the fact that 
there were passages that need not be forgotten, thereby isolating 
and emphasizing w^hat it was better to forget. 

“ I don’t mean,” she went on, that I don’t — that I shouldn’t — 
that I don’t like him now. Well — ^you know what I mean! Any- 
how, do please tell me about his marriage ” And Janey got 

out of the dangerous ground, as one escapes from sinking in a 
morass by a sudden rush for a hard island. 

I told her all about the domestic event, ungrudgingly enough. 
For I rejected with scorn the idea that such excessive caution was 
necessary. Was it not a want of confidence in Janey, almost a 
disrespectful one, to consider it so ? As for myself, it came to the 
same thing whatever happened. If (for Joey No. 2 was getting 
uneasy on the subject) there should be any recrudescence of Janey 
— well! so much the better! If not, it really wasn’t a hanging 
matter. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


287 


Ought it not to have been one? Had I any right to dismiss, 
as I did, the possibility of a stronger interest than my own, under 
what may have been the pretext that it was a point of honour 
to show confidence in Janey by doing so? I hope I deceived 
myself. 

I gave then a complete account of my Father’s eccentric second 
courtship, and Janey laughed a good deal thereat; so much so, in 
fact, that it was necessary to wdpe her ej’-es. When she had done 
this I think we both felt that a let’s-be-serious wave was due, and 
we settled dowm to it without going back to a society tone, which 
showed that we were comfortabler. 

‘‘It’s all very fine to laugh,” said she, “but I’m afraid it’s no 
laughing matter to you. Shall you go on living with your 
Father?” 

“Oh, no! It’s too rum! You have no idea how queer and 
uncomfortable it is — and all without any of us wanting to make 
any discomfort, or show any little tempers in the matter. It does 
seem hard that when there are so few people to consult, and none 
of the Regulation sources of misery, that human nature should be 
unable to take advantage of it and be happy. Of course if there 
was to be a settlement one would clear the decks for action. But 
there won’t be one.” Janey looked very grave. “There ought to 
be a settlement,” said she. 

I did not enter into any discussion of this point, as Janey’s re- 
mark was one I have always heard made under the same circum- 
stances, apparently automatically. I have always classified it as 
an involuntary decision of well-regulated intellects, a sort of 
Judicial Sneeze on their part, and have, so to speak, waited until 
they had put away their pocket-handkerchiefs. “But after all,” 
Janey continued, “the happiness of the parties is the first con- 
sideration — almost more than the settlement. As Papa isn’t here 
I may say so. You really think Seraphina Dowdeswell with the 
impossible name will make your Father a good wife? ” 

“Yes, at least Seraphina Vance will. One thing I’m certain 
of — Pheener will carry away the whiskey-bottle.” 

No sooner had the words passed my lips than I felt I had made 
a mistake. “ What I was to have done,” was certainly what J aney 
did not say; yet she stood there visibly abstaining from saying it, 
with the most creditable resolution. I saw it as plain as words 
could speak, in a smile that, being firmly restrained at the mouth, 
forced its way into the eyes, and would not be denied. I con- 
eidered it best to go on. 

“But she’ll never be cured of calling me Master Joseph— 


288 JOSEPH VANCE 

mor altogether cured of waiting at table. Naturam expellas fut^ 

if 

“ I don^t know what that means. — Never mind ! Tell me what 
your own plans are, if you don’t go on living at home ? ” 

Can’t say, exactly. I may take lodgings near here for a 
while — ^perhaps go away in the spring and try to induce Franco 
or Germany to take up the Macallister Repeater. You know about 
it.” 

‘‘I know. Hideous thing! You can kill seven people seveu 
miles off in seventy seconds. Isn’t that it ? ” 

That’s about it.” 

‘^And if fifteen persons are interested" in the lives of each you 
can make seven times fifteen — seven times ten, seventy, seven 
times five thirty-five — seventy and thirty is one hundred and five 
is five — ^you can actually make one hundred and five people un- 
happy all at once in seventy seconds. Oh, Mr. Vance, I do con- 
gratulate you from the bottom of my heart ! ” 

‘^Yes, and if it were a hundred and five thousand perhaps na- 
tions would think twice before rushing into war.” 

“I think I see your idea. Perhaps you’re right.” 

We were in the large front drawing-room nearly alone. Some- 
thing in human form was waiting till its carriage was announced, 
and airing its skirts at a fire in the back drawing-room. Jeannie 
and her husband were seeing guests out down below, with an 
amount of shouting and riot that seemed quite out of proportion 
to the actual size of the ostensible cause of the gathering; on 
whose behalf I heard appeals for silence, lest he should be waked. 
But no sooner had the noise subsided than alarums were heard as 
of a six-weeks-old baby in a violent passion — possibly the result 
of the sudden silence. Then of a rush of succour and apology 
from below. Then of a belated carriage arriving in a hurry for 
the human creature, who (never having been introduced to Janey 
or me) expressed by a graceful movement the great sweetness she 
would have shown us had we not been separated by an impassable 
gulf, and vanished from our lives forever. As soon as she was 
gone we got a little stiffer, because we were alone. Although not 
introduced she had served as a sort of buffer state, through whom 
no contraband could pass. Less metaphorically, there could be 
neither reminiscence nor recrimination while she was so near at 
hand. 

I can assure you it is a very odd sensation to be left alone with 
a young lady who two years before you had made certain would 
be your wife. One effect it had on me was to make me recite to 


JOSEPH VANCE 


289 


myself that portion of a letter I should shortly write which would 
describe the oddness of that sensation to — ^Lossie! (This simulta- 
neous arrangement of a letter to Lossie occurred alongside all 
notable events.) A perceptibly awkward silence followed. It was 
a mistake in me to stay after the exit of the human carriage-owner. 
And every minute of irresolution made a bolt more difficult. I 
felt it necessary to say something about something, and decided 
on weather. At the end of November it was safe to say we should 
soon have Christmas round again, and I committed myself so far. 
Janey looked at a newspaper and wondered if it was to-day’s. I 
wished Jeannie or Bony would desert their treasure and come to 
the rescue; but neither came. I felt that absolute silence wouldn’t 
do and to break it told a deliberate lie without a particle of foun- 
dation. 

“ There’s very little in the newspapers nowadays.” 

Do you think so ? ” I felt it was unfair of J aney to resort to 
.the Daily News, because it gave her an appearance of tranquillity 
end self-command as she stood pretending to read it, and I had no 
counter-resource. I evaded the point, and hoped nothing was the 
matter with Baby. Perhaps I ought to go up and see,” said 
Janey. I thought of saying please don’t, and contrasted it with 
please do; but neither seemed good, on reflection. Janey turned 
her eyes offi the paper to hear better, and apparently thinking that 
silence was suspicious, decided on going up. But when she got to 
the door she shook off all disguises, and quite suddenly coming 
out of ambush with, ‘‘ Come, Mr. Vance, I told you you had spoiled 
a good friendship, and so you had. But there’s no reason why 
we shouldn’t have a good acquaintanceship — so shake hands on it 
and really forget and forgive all round,” — held out her hand to me 
and met mine with a cordial shake, running away upstairs before 
I had time to do more than acquiesce. 

I sat arranging the relation of all this to Lossie, and awaiting the 
reappearance of Bony or Jeannie. The part of the letter I 
found most troublesome was the proof of my certainty of what 
Miss Spencer had thought when I mentioned the whiskey-bottle. 
I could exactly picture Lossie to myseK saying, “ Silly boy ! How 
can he be so fanciful ! ” and then I wondered whether she had 
kept her complexion in the hot climate, and would she come back 
thin and dry? I worded some enquiries on these points for the 
letter. But I want you to tell me more about Janey Spencer,” 
said the image in my mind. “ Never mind whether I’m thick or 
thin — ^you’ll see some day ! ” So I filled out the unwritten letter 
with particulars of how unliappy it made me to think of the 


290 


JOSEPH VANCE 


motive Janey appeared to ascribe to me. “ I know I shall say 
something about it to her and break up all the old ground again 
[so the letter was to run] if I see much of her/’ and the image of 
Lossie brushed back its hair in the old way, and the blue-grey 
eyes looked at me in the old way from under the same long eye- 
lashes, and it said in the old voice, “You silly Joe Vance! Make 
up your mind one way or the other. If you don’t love Janey 
Spencer at least half as much as you love me, keep out of her 
way and make an end of it.” So I resolved to follow a previously 
declared intention, and go back home to dinner, and as I chose to 
consider that I should be acting unselfishly in going away without 
disturbing any one, I went down alone, and found my coat and 
hat and umbrella. But I was reckoning without my host, for 
Bony came running down, having heard me on the stairs. Did I 
make a noise on purpose, I wonder ? 

“I say, old chap, you must stop to dinner — ^you really must/* 
then in a lower tone, “You know, Janey will be very uncomfort- 
able if you don’t. She’ll think you haven’t forgiven her.” 

“Oh, but indeed — it’s nothing to do with Janey. It’s only be- 
cause I must get a letter off to etc., etc., and I’ve got to post a 
cheque to etc., etc., and I’ve got to meet etc., etc., at half -past six 
to-morrow morning,” and more to the same effect. 

“ Yes, but Janey’s sure to think it’s her. And the poor girl has 
been doing the best she can to make things comfortable. And 
just consider how uncomfortable it will be if she marries Oliver 
Thorpe, and you don’t feel on an easy footing.” 

“ Ho ! ” said I. “ Janey’s going to marry Nolly 1 ” 

“Well! 1 don’t know. I say nothing. Only Jeannie says he 
admires her very much.” 

“ It’s not up to congratulation point, anyhow ? ” 

“Better ask Jeannie— remember, I know nothing— perhaps it’s 
only an idea of hers. You’d better stop and then she’ll tell you.” 

My two identities decided to stop to dinner on two different 
grounds. I, because I felt securer against any possible revival of 
an old story, and also because I felt glad to hear of the new one 
for Nolly’s sake; and Joe No. 2 because he felt hurt and didn’t 
know why, and because he had an unreasonable objection to Janey 
marrying any one else. “ How can you have one ? ” said I to him. 
“ Remember the life you led me at Oxford four years ago ! ” 
“ Anyhow, he should stop to dinner,” so he said. 

What followed convinces me now that if it is rash to reckon 
without one’s host, it is still rasher to reckon without one’s 
hostess. You see, a young lady who has married her first lovo 


JOSEPH VANCE 


291 


with no greater hardships than are involved in a two years’ en- 
gagement, spent in looking at premises (which as long as you 
are not obliged to come to conclusions is the greatest joy on earth), 
going to dances, and unpacking the wedding presents to look at 
them — such a young lady, I say, if all goes well in her first year 
of matrimony, is sure to want all her single friends to be as 
happy as herself. Therefore Jeannie, who at seventeen was al- 
ready an inveterate matchmaker, was no sooner married than she 
turned to, and almost pushed all the eligibles into one another’s 
arms. She thought nothing of asking early twenties to lunch 
with late teens, in carelessly selected couples, and comparing the 
colour of their eyes and hair across the table. If they were nearly 
the same length, she would measure them back to back. The 
pretences she would make in order that they should be left alone 
in the garden or drawing-room really rose to the height of a Fine 
Art. A panic-stricken couple so entrapped had been known to 
seek refuge in a mutual confession of plighted troth elsewhere. 
But Jeannie scored, for in six months they were both faithless, 
and, as she triumphantly said, had made it up after all! 

Therefore for any two unmarried persons of opposite sexes to 
remain to dinner at Mrs. Jeannie’s was really to put their heads 
in the lioness’s mouth. Of course Janey and I, who were in a 
sense the two Protomartyrs of her system of persecution, were on 
our guards. But this only made Mrs. Macallister more un- 
scrupulous. 

Whether she said to her husband, “ There now ! He’s going 
away — he’s running away from Janey! I told you he would! Do 
run down and say she’s engaged to Mr. Thorpe,” I don’t know, 
but if she did it was clever. For it made my image of Lossie in 
India say, “ You see, you silly Goose, it’s all been settled for you. 
So now you needn’t fuss.” And I joined the trio at dinner in a 
spirit of honest acquiescence in the ^‘good acquaintanceship.” 

We chatted in full familiarity over my Father’s intended mar- 
riage. Jeannie and Bony each rotated on the axis of Duty in 
connection with settlements, which came forward somehow, un- 
sought by me. There ought to be a settlement,” said both 
solemnly. 

That’s what Nolly and I are always quarrelling about,” said 
I ; “ he’s getting quite a great authority on these matters, I un- 
derstand.” 

I never saw more perfect unconsciousness and candour in two 
hazel eyes in my life than in the pair that looked at me across the 
table. 


292 


JOSEPH VANCE 


I haven’t seen Mr. Oliver Thorpe for ever so long,” said their 
owner. “ How is he ? ” 

I don’t thinlc the glance that crossed the other diameter of the 
table was nearly so unconscious — it was equally guilty each way, 
I suspect. I was surprised — agreeably, Joe No. 2 said, but I 
denied it viciously, and felt I could kick him. Janey looked at me 
for an answer to her question, with added enquiry about my sur- 
prise. Jeannie showed presence of mind, and dragged Janey 
away upstairs abruptly, before I could answer either enquiry. I 
realized that I should hear more about that, before the evening 
was over. 

There were alarums and excursions upstairs while we smoked 
our cigars; causing Bony to take his out of his mouth to listen — 
but it was evidently too good to desert. Besides, the household 
was always fermenting about its new member. We smoked to 
scorch-point and then found Janey alone in the drawing-room. 

“Jeannie’s just gone up again,” said she. ‘‘But I’m sure 
Baby’s all right — I was up there just now.” But the anxious 
Eather (now there was no cigar to finish) would not be soothed 
with such testimony, and thought he had better go up and see. 
So there we were alone again — and the protection of the alleged 
engagement to Nolly much more than doubtful. 

Janey never let the grass of uncertainty grow under her feet. 
“What did you mean, Mr. Vance, by looking so scared when I 
asked after Mr. Oliver Thorpe ? ” 

When evasion is impossible one decides on confession, and 
makes a merit of it. I confessed, and continued apologetically: 

“ It was only a word from Bony a few minutes before we went 
to dinner. I daresay I made too much of it. When one would 
be very glad to hear news if it were true, one is apt to think it is 
true — one doesn’t enquire too closely.” And Joe No. 2 protested 
against being included in my profession of gladness. “ In the 
present case I may allow myself to say that I thought my old 
friend a most fortunate man.” And in order to avert difficult 
personal metaphysics, I endeavoured to throw into my remark an 
ingredient of the polished Man of the World who deems a tribute 
to your charming sex necessary. It was a failure. Janey caught 
the weak point instantly — she was a true solicitor’s daughter. 

“I hope you thought me an equally fortunate woman?” 

“ But was there any truth in it ? ” 

“ None whatever. But did you ? ” 

“ Hid I what ? ” 

“Think me an equally fortunate woman!” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


293 


I thought of trying the polished Man of the World again, and 
beginning with, “ Far below your deserts, etc.” But I had failed 
so before that I gave it up. I was very stupid not to answer 
naturally that indeed I did, and Nolly was the dearest and truest 
of friends, and would make the best of husbands. But an un- 
called-for candour made my thoughts come to the surface. 

Much more fortunate,” I said, “ than on a pre ” and stuck 

in the middle of the word. 

“ Previous occasion,” said Janey with decision, but then her 
decision seemed to fail her and she turned rather pale, I thought. 
“ Oh dear,” said she, “ I do wish you wouldn’t. It makes it so 
difficult, and it doesnt do any good.” And she entrenched herself 
behind an illustrated paper. 

I looked at the fire and forecast some more of my letter to 
Lossie. It employed, I am sorry to say, a most uncongenial simile, 
likening myself and Janey to two passengers in mid-channel pre- 
tending all was well with them, but saddened by a well-founded 
anxiety about the unexpired half of the passage. I was afraid 
that, if I renewed the conversation. Bony and Jeannie (who stood 
for Calais pier) would be too late to avert whatever the painful 
consequences anticipated were an analogue of. The image of 
Lossie looked at me in my mind, and said, Don’t be a 
nasty pig, Joe! Bemember what I said before.” And then I 
said to myself, ‘‘I’m sure I do love Janey quite half as much — a 
little more, perhaps — ^yes, decidedly a little more ! ” And then the 
image said, “It’s more than that, Joe, and you know it, or you 
would do as I said and keep out of her way and make an end of 
it.” And I think Joe No. 2 felt grateful to the image. 

The analogy of Calais was a good one in one respect — we were 
very like the two passengers in our way of resorting to silence. 
We felt it was the best chance, and sat with our mental eyes shut, 
waiting for the sound of Jeannie or Bony on the stairs; just as 
they would have shut their practical ones and waited to hear that 
the harbour lights were in view. No voice of relief came and I 
could stand it no longer. I burst out suddenly, just as though 
the reciprocal consciousness and misgiving of the last two hours 
had been spoken conversation. 

“You may say what you like, Janey, but you know it wasn*t 
to carry away my poor old Dad’s whiskey-bottle that I wanted you 
for my wife.” She turned a little paler and said, “But I said 
nothing ! ” No,” said I, “ but I heard you think it was, 

and I can’t bear that you should think so.” She turned paler 
still. 


294 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Oh, how much better to let bygones be bygones ! ” She ap- 
pealed to me beseechingly. 

“They shall directly. But I must make you know that it 
wasn’t.” 

“ I do know it. I do believe it — indeed I do ! You don’t sup- 
pose it was that that made me ” 

“ Well, yes — I did ! I thought it was — partly, at least. Of 
course I thought most of it was something else.” 

“It was something else,” and Janey went very white indeed. 
“ It was that you were so very fond of Lucilla Desprez. Let me 
go,” for she was making for the door. 

“But I was very — very fond of you.” Janey shook her head 
slowly, and smiled. 

“ And you were very — very — very fond of Mrs. Desprez,” said 
she. “ It was three verys to my two. Much better let the bygones 
begin to be bygones, Mr. Vance.” 

“I can’t — I won’t!” I cried. “Oh, Janey — dearest Janey — 
what could I say without an untruth ? ” 

“Nothing! It was as it was. But it is a woman’s way to ask 
what she feels prepared to give, and I ” 

I caught her in my arms and burst into a passionate entreaty to 
her to forgive me and take me back. Whatever else was true I 
said it was true that I loved her better than any other woman I 
could possibly marry. “ Recollect,” I said, “ that if you turn me 
away again it is to no happiness elsewhere — only a black, dry 
fruitless world — and we may meet again in the desert, as we 
have met to-day, each wandering about alone.” She did not shrink 
from me, but was as white as a sheet. I caught her up closer; 
I could feel how her heart beat, and still she did not shrink. 
But passionately as I spoke and felt, one of my inner selves was 
still speculating on how the other would finish that letter to Los- 
sie ; while the other was dimly conscious of an outside satisfaction, 
to come hereafter, at the happiness Lossie would have in reading 
it. I doubt this being the least intelligible to any one else — but 
then I am not writing any one else’s life. 

Janey showed no reaction against a status-quo that was dis- 
tinctly founded on the school of Bony and Jeannie, until a foot- 
step, or four footsteps, came on the stairs, and the anxious parents 
entered full of the frightful symptoms Baby was showing. It was 
Calais harbour too late. But they were too preoccupied to notice 
our preoccupation; and that pending the arrival of a General 
Practitioner, we discussed Gastro-Enteritis, Bubonic Plague, and 
BO forth in an absent manner that scarcely rose to the impor- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


295 


tance of the occasion. After a verdict of wind, when the doctor 
had departed, execrating one general practice, to wit, that of going 
into panics about nothing, I went away with Bony for a final 
smoke. Just as we were settling down we heard a great laughing 
and talking in a remote upper region. 

“ I say,” said Bony, “ that won’t do, they’ll wake Baby ! I won- 
der what all the rumpus is about, though,” and he put the door on 
the jar to listen through it. 

I know what it is about,” I said. Bony turned sharply round 
and looked full at me. 

^‘No?” said he — and no print could express the ore roiundo 
character of the word. No f You don*t mean that?” 

Yes, I do, old chap.” 

Well,” said he, “ I am glad ! ” He said this three times at 
least before enquiring, “ How did you manage it, old fellow ? ” and 
then added, “I expect you took a leaf out of my book.” I was 
not prepared to deny this. 

I walked home through a mild early Spring night, happier than 
I had been for a long time, and wondering at the few words that 
had been spent on the whole of this transaction. I arranged com- 
ment on this for my letter to Lossia, 


CHAPTER XXXni 


BUT HE didn’t write THE LETTER TO LOSSIE. MR. VANCE’s DISGUST AT 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF THE WIDOW. HOW HE TOLD DR. THORPE, 
AND THERE WAS SOMETHING AFTER ALL ! BUT JEANNIE WILL PRO- 
VIDE FOR NOLLY. JOE’s WANT OF LITERARY SKILL JERKS HIS TALE 
OUT OF GEAR. 

I WAS far too sleepy when I reached home even to write the 
letter to Lossie. Nevertheless, I was up and had breakfasted be- 
fore my Father appeared, and had gone straight away to Chelsea. 
There I found J aney reading letters. “ Back again so soon ? ” said 
she. “ Yes,” said I, come to see you don’t change yoc.: mind.” 

“How do you know anything about my mind? I never said 
anything. Come now, Master Joseph!” This had been picked 
up from Pheener during our previous engagement. 

“ That doesn’t matter 1 Least said soonest mended. Miss 
Janey.” From which it may be inferred that the stage directions 
of this little drama had been fully complied with, and that they 
were such as to leave no doubt of the sentiments of the performers. 

“ I couldn’t find it in my heart to go all through two years ago 
again,” said she. “ I daresay I ought to have done it. But I was 
so lonesome after, that I couldn’t screw myself up to doing it 
again. You can’t have had any breakfast, it’s so early? 

“Yes, I have, but I can manage some more.” For I had run 
away in a hurry, not feeling quite certain it hadn’t all been a 
dream. I checked Joe No. 2 for remarking that though I had ar- 
ranged my letter to Lossie, I wasn’t writing it. And when Mr. 
and Mrs. Macallister appeared they found Miss Spencer pouring 
out Mr. Vance’s coffee! “Well,” said Jeannie, “you do look like 
a comfortable couple.” And I suppose ticked off one more to her 
score of successes. 

I wanted to tell my Hadd^ (as well as to write my letter), so I 
went back again after just seeing Janey to some friends at Cado- 
gan Gardens. On the way we just turned into the Hospital Gar- 
dens out of Queen’s Road, and just sat down a few minutes in the 
Avenue. A few quarters of an hour would have been more ac- 
curate. When they were over I saw Janey to her friends, who 

296 


JOSEPH yANOE 


297 


lived at a house inside a Square. I went there six months ago, 
and it was gone. And the Chelsea of ^64 had gone too, and some 
rare old slums had gone with it. And some rare new slums have 
taken their place, in which I am told the servants sleep in the 
bath, to use no bolder expression. This is neither here nor there. 

After just waiting a minute or two to shake hands with Mrs. 
Something, Janey’s friend, I had to make a bolt unexplained; and 
was so late that I only just arrived in time to catch my Father 
returning to the works, having finished lunch. 

Well, Nipper,” was his greeting, what’s the news of 
Pimpleses grandchild ? What did Pimples drink his health in ? 
He then went, on to recall with pleasure untoward incidents that 
might happen at Christenings, greatly to^ the satisfaction of out- 
siders not in sympathy with any religious body. ^^You mustn’t 
jolt ’em over the font,” said he, or there’s no knowin’ ! I heard 
tell they jolted your elder sister Elizabeth that died in teething. 
I wasn’t there myself. Your Mother told me.” And my Father 
paused and became thoughtful. Poor old Dad! 

You’re not asking so many questions as you might, Daddy,” 
said I. He pondered a little to find a new question, and decided 
on asking who were the Godfathers and Godmother of Master 
Archie. It appeared to occur to him as singular and rather scan- 
dalous that this lady and these gentlemen were not joined in 
lawful wedlock, and that a good opportunity for making them 
respectable had been lost. “ They might have put the halter over 
them then and there,” said he, evidently confusing between the 
stable and the fane. I did not stop to clear this up, but again 
urged further enquiries. He said he was no good at guessing 
conundrums, and gave it up. Cook was sharper, for coming in 
at this moment with my lunch, she caught his last words and 
exclaimed, — ‘‘Law, Master, can’t you see? It’s a young lady?” 
And I admitted that this was the case. 

“ Well done the Nipper I ” And my Father, who was just pack- 
ing his scarf round his throat to face the outer air, undid it again 
to sit down and enjoy a good laugh over the event. “Well — 
done — the — ^Nipper! And this time it ain’t a widder?” 

“No, it certainly is not.'^ But my Father fixed a suspicious eye 
on me, and shook the head of the unconvinced. 

“ The Nipper is at some game,” said he. “ He’s gammoning his 
old Dad.” 

“ No, Dad, honour bright ! She isn’t a widow, whatever she is.” 
But the use of the expression honour bright convinced him that I 
was, as he put it, prequivocating. 


298 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“ Spit it out, Nipper dear/' said he. Whereon I admitted that 
though she wasn’t a widow, she was the same young lady that 
hadn’t been a widow before. It was a sad come-down. Cook, 
though, tried to put the best face she could on the matter, and 
said, well she declared now, think of that! But the gilt was evi- 
dently off her gingerbread. As for my Eather, he really looked 
seriously concerned on my behalf, and strove to console me. 

“Never mind, Joey dear! Cheer up! We’ll put it she ain’t a 
widder, and start fair accordin’. But you might have told me and 
Cook, instead of keeping of it back. Hay, Cook ? ” The extrac- 
tion of this small amount of grievance made him happy and nasal, 
but Cook was evidently inwardly depressed, as I judged from the 
way in w’hich she said, “And the partridge a-getting cold too,” 
showing that she likened my engagement to a lunch that has been 
“kept warm,” which is equivalent to being brought back cool. I 
felt sorry for Cook. 

I have discovered by this time of my life that families are 
almost always disappointed with the Persons of their Choice, the 
immediate Choosers alone excepted. They may be generous and 
conceal it, or they may gather themselves up for a good collective 
tiger-spring, and go straight for the throat of the innocent in- 
truder. But they will only have a true heartfelt welcome for him 
or her when they don’t want the other party for themselves. Then 
they will acknowledge the kindness of Miss Jones in taking their 
little brother Cain or Judas or Caracalla off their hands, and will 
hope Miss Jones will have a steadying effect. Or vice versa. 
Knowing this, I was not surprised at my Dad’s immediate dis- 
satisfaction with the name of Jane Spencer, when we were first 
engaged. He had formed an ideal on my behalf and the name of 
it had several syllables, say Iphigenia in Tauris or Clytsemnestra. 
Having expressed his low opinion of Janey, by imputing es- 
sential widowhood to her, and the attributes of a laundress, I 
knew him too well to suppose he would retract. He would 
acknowledge that he had been drunk, with perfect candour, but he 
never admitted that he had made a mistake. So I' was not as- 
tonished at his looking rather blank over the recrudescence of 
Janey — on the contrary, I thought it a concession on his part to 
surrender her widowhood and start fair. 

But I was painfully conscious, when I broke my agreeable news 
to Dr. Thorpe, that there was something behind his otherwise 
most cordial reception of it— something that made me feel that I 
had been too confident. It was so slight that a moment after I 
thought that I must have been mistaken and the unpleasant feel- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


299 


ing went off. But I felt it again when I told Nolly, who had come, 
aa I did, on a usual Sunday. Pie put too much side on in his 
congratulations and spoke, I thought, with a certain amount of 
effort, and an artificially exhilarated tone. I suddenly recollected 
Bony^s allegation about Nolly and Janey. There must have been 
something in it! 

There could be no concealments between me and Dr. Thorpe. 
That would have been contrary to nature. So I spoke straight to 
him about it after Nolly had departed when we were together in 
the Library after lunch. Why — there was something,” said he, 
‘‘ but I don’t know if one could fairly describe it as anything 
between Nolly and Miss Spencer; for Nolly made the mistake of 
not taking the lady into his confidence — not enough, that is. He 
spoke to her Father and asked his leave to speak to Janey — and 
her Father took upon himself to say she would be unpropitious. 
It struck me as an unusually rash act in Spencer to vouch for 
anything! But I suppose he had his reasons. I could have un- 
derstood his merely discouraging an engagement on the ground of 
the incautiousness of marriage. But he went further and took 
the responsibility of heading Nolly off altogether. Nolly couldn’t 
very well run counter to his principal; so he kept away and con- 
soled himself with cricket. This was more than six months 
ago.” 

^‘Do you know. Doctor, I can’t suppose Janey 'ever knew 
anything about it — indeed, I’m sure she didn’t, from a lot of 
things.” 

“ Do you think she ought to be told, and given her choice ? — all 
go back and make a fresh start? I shouldn’t recommend it, even 
if you thought it would be easy to negotiate. I don’t. Moreover, 
I suspect that her Father knew what he was about.” I thought 
so too, as I knew how devoted she was to him. 

I got an opportunity of sounding Mrs. Macallister as to how she 
came by her information about Nolly, as I was perfectly certain 
Janey was absolutely unconscious. But Jeannie was quite unable 
to quote any authorities — had only seen the parties together once. 
Was he very empresse in his manner? I asked. 

“ Spooney, do you mean ? No — not particularly. Bqjt anybody 
could tell — any girl, I mean. The way he spoke of her as Miss 
Spencer, and kept at the other end of the room. Heaps of things ! 
As for Janey, she’s just a born goose with no eyes at all. Never 
sees anything.” 

She knows nothing about it now ? ” 

‘‘Nothing whatever, and I shan’t tell her. Oh yes! of cours® 


300 


JOSEPH VANCE 


IVe talked to her about him — chaffed her a little — ^but she only 
said she wished he was a little more talkative. Please touch that 
bell near you, Mr. Vance. I want to know if Baby’s asleep.” 
Baby was, according to Nurse’s testimony; and Jeannie resumed, 
looking thoughtfully at the fire : — 

There must be somebody now that would do nicely for your 
cousin ” 

^‘He’s not my cousin — ^he’s no relation.” 

‘^Well! Your whatever he is! There now! Pd just thought 
of somebody, and you put her out of my head. Oh, I know! — 
Priscilla Middleton. Oh no — by-the-bye! — she’s going to marry a 
man with a bottle nose and check trousers. What a silly I am! 
Well, but Pll tell you who there is — of course — there’s Maisie 
Maxey — the very thing! Why, she’s seen him already, at Lord’s, 
4ind said how nice he looked in his flannels ! ” 

But that child ! Come, I say, Mrs. Bony, draw it mild I ” 

“ Child indeed ! She’s nearly seventeen, and he’s twenty-seven. 
It’s quite ideal.” And Jeannie’s beautiful face beamed with joy 
in the flicker of the firelight. And little did Mr. Prentice Maxey, 
her papa, and Lady Sarah Maxey, her mamma, dream of the 
snares that were being laid for their daughter by that pretty 
Engineer’s wife Maisie was so thick with. It’s so long ago now 
that I can’t recall why I have an impression that these parents had 
misgivings • over the acquaintances Miss Maisie had picked up. 
But I had one, and keep it still; and have now a version of it 
which murmurs that the Oliver Thorpes give themselves airs 
because Maisie Thorpe, the one that was so like her Aunt Lucilla, 
married her cousin the present Earl. However, this is antipica- 
tion with a vengeance! — • 

Jeannie had an easy job this time. For really she contributed 
very little to the result. Beyond getting me to bring Nolly over 
one evening, and exposing him to the large blue eyes of the Earl’s 
^anddaughter, like a photographic sensitized surface, she hardly 
did a hand’s turn. However, she was too honourable to make a 
parade of her achievement, and admitted that it was Maisie’s own 
doing entirely. She described the position in terms that would 
have done honour to my Mother. “ When a girl,” said she, jams 
her head down a man’s throat, he naturally takes up the gaunt- 
let!” 

Nolly certainly took up the gauntlet, and the tournament came 
off about two years later at St. George’s, Hanover Square. The 
girl’s Mother made a great fight, on social grounds, no one of her 
family having ever fallen so low as a Solicitor. But she was out- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


301 


flanked and routed by the Earl, her father, on whom it suddenly 
dawned that Oliver Thorpe was the son of the Dr. Thorpe, where- 
upon he descended on Poplar Villa one day, to the Doctor’s sur- 
prise, to express the unbounded satisfaction that he felt at his 
granddaughter marrying the son of so illustrious a man. He was 
a Biological or Ethnological or Psychological Earl — I really for- 
get which ! 

Nolly was therefore married about twelve months after Janey 
and myself. His wife is living still, as I happen to know. I saw 
her name recently in the Morning Post, and learned that she was a 
Primrose Dame. Perhaps if they ever speculate about me, they 
wonder if I am still in Brazil, or what has become of me; strange, 
isn’t it, if this should be true? — seeing what narrative my last 
paragraph was the end of. If it isn’t true, something equally 
strange is. For, consider the meaning of thirty years! 

When I am writing of the past, it comes back so vividly, each 
recovered incident constantly supplying recollection of something 
else, that I can almost hear the voices that even now, some of them, 
may sometimes speak of me. I can see Jeannie’s glorious auburn 
hair glowing in the firelight, as she hatches her little scheme for 
entrapping Nolly and the Primrose Dame above mentioned! I 
can hear muffled cab-wheels on the snow outside, and Jeannie says. 

That’s Janey — I was afraid she wouldn’t come.” And then I 
meet Janey in the passage, coming warm and living out of the 
snow, and shaking it off her sealskin, and in want of half-a-crown 
for the Hansom — 

And I can almost hear the words! And then it all dies away 
and I am alone in St., Bloomsbury, on a blank and feature- 

less Saturday night — not even a thick fog, only a thin one — with 
a piano-organ playing the tune I know as Carmen in this street, 
and a band of a harp and cornet at the George the Fourth round 
the corner. The comet plays a note at a time, with Geological 
periods between, and I discern that this style lends itself to 
Patriotic music, and am stirred accordingly. But I shall be glad 
when Midnight comes and closes George, and scatters the Band 
as though it was marauders, and goes away refreshed by a gratu- 
itous half -pint George has bestowed upon it. 

And then I sit and think of that dear wife of mine that I lost a 
quarter of a century ago — I think of the happy weeks we passed 
after our happy wedding, in the Summer of ’64, chiefly at old 
French towns, on the coast or inland; of happy wanderings on 
the endless sands, and wallowing in them in the sun after stop** 


802 


JOSEPH VANCE 


ping much too long in the water ; of equally happy tramps or rides 
through endless avenues of stripped tree-trunks, and round inter- 
minable obsolete fortifications where my imagination heard the 
Macallister Repeater destroying fathers of families at distances 
undreamed of by the men who built them. And as something 
always stands out clear, the most vivid thing of all is one partic- 
ular rosy fat fishwife, and the sweet candour with which she asked 
when Janey expected her /iZs? No such party was in sight, but 
Marie Favre, or whatever her name was, took him for granted, sex 
and all — 

And then I recollect that it was after a long, long talk on the 
sands, that we chatted with Madame Favre. The tide was flowing 
and made us jump up and go higher at intervals, but we had time 
for half of our talk before we were driven up into a pleasant smell 
of crab-shells baking in the sun, and unto crackly colourless dead 
seaweed and flotsam and jetsam, where we had the other half. 
And the subject of all this talk was; — ^Lossie! 

For we very often talked of Lossie. And of this I am certain, 
— that this dear wife of mine, whom I lost so long ago, was the 
only creature in this mortal world to whom I ever spoke on the 
subject without reserve. To Lossie I wrote (without reserve) on 
every other subject. To her father I never spoke directly at all, 
although each of us knew the other saw into his mind. But even 
though I write this record now, as one who strives to show his 
whole soul faithfully and truly, and does it with full deliberation 
and forethought as a kind of self-imposed exercise that, while it 
tries him, helps him on in facing the lonely time, yet I shall never 
succeed in being one-half as intelligible to you (assuming your 
existence), as I was to Janey that morning on the beach at 
Fecamp. If I could do that, I believe I should have your pity and 
sympathy, as I had hers. 

‘^But, Jack darling,” she had said, — we called each other Jack 
and Jill, she having christened me Jack, — “what a goose you were 
not to say, ^ Miss Lucilla dear,’ or whatever you called her, ^ I’m 
so fond of you that if ever I lose you I shall go mad or die,’ or 
something of that sort! Just think how happy you might have 
been 1 It does seem such a pity.” 

“ Because I didn’t know it myself. If you were to pull all ray 
hair out by the roots ” 

“ Am I pulling too hard ? ” 

“No, darling, pull away — it’s merely an illustration! If you 
were to pull it all out by the roots, and scratch my eyes out, I 
couidn^t say otherwise. I no more knew what a thunderbolt there 


JOSEPH VANCE 


303 


was in the bush a minute before Hr. Thorpe spoke of her engage- 
ment to me at Oxford than a babe unborn.’’ 

‘‘ Thunderbolts don’t live in bushes — ^never mind ! But do tell 
me, Jacky darling, quite seriously what you suppose would have 
happened — if for instance it had turned out after the thunderbolt 
came out of the bush, that Dr. Thorpe didn’t mean engaged to be 
married, but engaged — say — as leading lady at the Haymarket. 
Surely you would have known what was wrong then? ” 

“Of course 1 should, dearest Jilly! And I should have gone 
straight to Lossie, and taken her into my confidence.” 

“ And what do you suppose she would have done — or said ? ” 

“ I know exactly. She would have pushed her loose hair back 
and looked at me with her eyelids just dropped a little and her 
mouth open — not like the hippopotamus at the Zoo — but her lips 
just parted.” 

“ And she would have said ? ” 

“ She would have said quite suddenly, ‘ Oh, you dear silly boy, 
do you suppose you are the only little brother that ever was sorry 
to lose his big sister ? ’ And I should no more have known how to 
explain than the man in the moon.” 

“Is he such a bad hand at an explanation? But she would 
have understood at once. All women do ” 

“ She wouldn’t have, dearest Jill. She would have supposed I 
was asking for something she could not give, and I should only 
have been asking to keep what I had got.” 

“ x\nd keeping what you had got was incompatible with Lucilla 
Thorpe marrying anybody else?” Whereon Joey No. 2, in my 
inner consciousness, where he had been getting restive, became 
riotous and shouted, “It was — you know it was! Don’t be a 
hypocrite and deny it.” So I said feebly, “ I’m afraid that was 
the case.” 

“Very well, then. Master Jack,” said Janey, “now we come to 
the point. (Be quiet — it’s only a sandhopper!) Now we come to 
the point. You expected everything to remain in statu quo till 
you woke up. Wasn’t that it?” 

«Yes — I think it might be truer to say I didn’t expect it not 
to remain so. But we won’t quarrel about a phrase. Perhaps I 
had sometimes been just conscious enough of an idea that Lossie 
might marry knocking at the door of my mind, to shut the door 
in its face. But when I shut the door I never looked out of the 
window to see who knocked.” 

“You dear self -deceiving Jack! You never looked out because 
you knew what you would see.” And Joe No. 2, whose eye was 


304 


JOSEPH VANCE 


fixed on me as a caPs on a mouse, and to whom I knew I should 
fall a prey, said, “Now, Joe Vance, what do you make of 
that?" 

I could make nothing against the two of them, so I gave it up. 
Also at this moment a long crested wave rose out of the blue far 
away, and the sea-birds must have told it that the tide was coming 
in very slowly at Fecamp, for it came steadily on to the shore, 
pooh-poohing the little presumptuous splashes and ripples that 
had been making believe in the sunshine, and poured its two miles 
of crest on the sheet of glass before it, and rushed straight over it 
with a musical roar. And when it retired after charging up the 
sloping sands at the population, it did so with every reason to be 
proud of its success in wetting fugitives to the skin. And as 
soon as they were audible again, the gulls could be heard egging ( »n 
another, even bigger, to go and do likewise. 

Janey and I escaped with very small casualties, and retired to 
a plateau of little clear pebbles, all one bigness. I can remember 
running my hands through them as we settled down. 

“What were we talking of — oh! Lossie Desprez. Well, Jacky 
dearest, whatever you may say to the contrary, I cannot help 
thinking something might have been done. If you had only 
sounded a note of warning, who knows but what she would never 
have fallen in love with Sir Hugh. And then think how jolly it 
might have been!” I was just going to assent to this, when I 
I)erceived that Joe No. 2 was sneering cynically, and this sug- 
gested another view of the case. 

“But, Jill darling— stop a minute! If it had come out like 
that, I should never have been sitting here with you — that would 
never do at all ! ” 

“No,” said Janey, thoughtfully, “iPs a bad fix! But then,” 
she added, as one on whom a light breaks, “ don^t you see? I 
shouldnH have been in it at all ! You would have been nothing to 
me but Miss Lossie's schoolboy that I could only just recollect.” 

“I don’t look with satisfaction at would-have-beening anything 
of the sort,” said I.— “ Well,” said Janey, “ I don’t subscribe to 
the idea exactly, but I was struck by that loophole and grasped 
at it.” 

“ And then you to sniff at thunderbolts and bushes ! I’m glad 
we haven’t got to translate our conversation to that nice pois- 
Sonnier e up there that’s looking at us in such a motherly way. 
Yow ! — Here’s another wave ! ” 

And our next rush brought us up to the zone of dried crab- 
shells and big stones, where one sits down cautiously for a variety 


JOSEPH VANCE 


305 


of reasons. And there was Marie Eavre aforesaid, and in a very 
few minutes we knew the names of all her family. 

And I lay down my pen, and the beach and the blue sea hare 
vanished. I am back again, and the organ has played through all 
its tunes and has come round to Carmen once more; when it 
appears to be suddenly struck with a sense of tautology, and re- 
fusing a da capo abruptly decamps into the night. I wish it 
would go on, for even Carmen was company. I would have given 
it a penny if it had been within range. But it was too far off, 
and all the noises have gone. No! There is a feeble flageolet 
in the back street, which comes out into the silence now there is 
nothing to drown it. I have got the penny. I have nerved my- 
self to part with it. I know the very old man who plays that 
flageolet, and I will interrupt ‘Life let us cherish,’ which is his 
tune, to give him that penny, and I will take a little walk round 
to make myself sleep when I return, and perhaps I shall see a 
drunken man being taken to the station. And then I wiU come 
back and think more over the old time, until sleep comes and 
allows me to go back into the past and live it through again with- 
out a tear. I much prefer the sleeping dream to the waking one. 
Nothing in one’s head splits, and one can speak without choking. 


CHAPTEE XXXIV 


and, after all, LOSSIE's letter passed her in mid-ocean ! OF HOW 

JOE AND JANEY READ HIS FATHER^S LETTER AT POPLAR VILLA, AND 
HOW LOSSIE CAME UNEXPECTEDLY ON TWO HAPPY LOVERS IN THE 
TWILIGHT. IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE ELDEST MISS FLOWERDEW ! 
DR. THORPE JOINS THEM; BUT HOW ABOUT HIS HEART? HOW JOE 
AND JANEY WERE MARRIED. BUT NO ONE CAN PLAY JANEY'S 
PIANO NOW. 

It is very fortunate that I never took it into my head to be an 
Author. What a nice hash I should have made of it! 

For see what I have done! Here, in what I think of to myself 
as a consecutive narrative, I have contrived to plunge into my 
honeymoon before I was married ! Had I really put my pen down 
before it led me into this excursion (just at the time they closed 
the “ George ” public) I should have gone on reasonably and told 
the things that came about before my marriage in the summer. 
They belong to an intensely happy passage in my life — although I 
absolutely despair of explaining (to any one but myself) the way; 
in which one of them contributed to that happiness. I am speak- 
ing of Lossie’s return to England. 

I fancy I have indicated that this was expected, but very likely, 
not. We were all expecting her some time or other, but I re- 
member distinctly that no time was settled, when the rapproche- 
ment took place between Janey and myself, as narrated in the last 
chapter. Nevertheless, my letters had kept Lossie au fait of 
everything, and the long letter I wrote to her a day or two after 
my reconciliation .interview with Janey would have brought her 
information up to date, had it reached her. It was an interesting 
letter, giving every detail, and had in addition a sort of commen- 
tary, written in red ink by Janey; a rubric — part information, 
part contradiction of my narrative. I can recollect buying a 
little bottle of red ink, at Janey’s request, and how the sealing- 
wax chipped off the cork and went on the carpet, and had to be 
swept up. This shows (me) it was at Hampstead that I gave her 
my letter to read, as in no other house I frequented at the time 
was the standard of tidiness so high. But this letter passed LoS’r 
sie at some unsuspected point in the Red Sea or Persian Gulf, an4 

306 


JOSEPH VANCE 


307 


was opened and read by the General at about the time of the little 
incident which will inaugurate a new quire of foolscap (here in 
Bloomsbury, thirty years later), if I am detained in this world 
I long enough to complete and despatch an article on cantilever 
I bridge-building, which I have promised the printer early to-mor- 
j TOW morning. 

j This little incident was a trifle perhaps in itself, and might be 
I given in a dozen words thus: Lossie came home sooner than was 
expected, and took Janey and me by surprise. But it was a sort 
of epoch-making trifle, and stands out clear in my memory of 
unforgotten things. 

Lossie, with her little boy, about a year and a half old now, 
was due at Marseilles early in April. But there came bad storms 
and a cold snap, and a delay to the boat ; not quite without anxiety 
to us at home. A welcome telegram dissipated this, but ended 
shall not come just yet — too cold.” For the rough weather and 
the change of climate had been trying, and the letter that followed 
seemed to point to an anchorage in the Eiviera until a little real 
warmth came. I suppose we in England were misled by our huge 
fires and thick greatcoats in a murderous east wind, or else Lossie 
was made too confident by a sudden Mediterranean sun, for she 
and the babies and an ayah and a French maid came quite a week 
earlier than our earliest expectation, having through some postal 
delay overtalcen their own premonitory letter. 

Janey and I were at Poplar Villa. We were consoling the 
Doctor on alternate days with Nolly. He had been very anxious 
about Lossie all by herself on the journey, although he had been 
making believe that he was quite at ease. So Nolly and I ar- 
ranged that he should never be left alone in the evening, or as 
little as possible. I frequently borrowed Janey, greatly to the 
DoctoFs satisfaction; as he was as good as in love with her, to 
use his own phrase. Nolly would gladly have negotiated a loan 
of Miss Maxey, on the alternate evenings; but this was in the 
days before the Earl had realized Nolly’s parentage, and the battle 
was still raging over the adaptability of Solicitors to Earl’s Nests. 
And Maisie would hardly have been the same as Janey in any 
case. The Doctor liked her very well afterwards, but looked on 
her as a kissable version of a china shepherdess. 

On this occasion Janey and I chartered a Hansom all the way 
from Hampstead. The wind had fallen and we were having one 
of those early spring days the east wind sometimes leaves as a 
compensating legacy to the Londoner — one of those days that slip 
in unnoticed between the death of Eurus and the birth of Zephyrus 


308 JOSEPH VANCE 

or Auster; whichever it is that comes to wet us through after our 
ehiverings ! 

‘‘If this goes on, Joe,” said Janey to me, as we got out of our 
cab — she had not at that time christened me Jacky — “ if this goes 
on we shall have all the trees out in a month.” 

“Yes,” I said, “and then all the blossoms, and then skating, 
and everything killed!” 

“Peter Grievous!” said Janey, laconically. “Here’s my bag. 
Carry it in. No — here’s Sam. Put it up in my room, Sam, 
please ! Is the Doctor back ? ” 

No — ^he wasn’t. He and Professor Absalom had gone for a 
walk. We never-minded, and went into the Library, having 
acquiesced in tea, though late — I had a letter I wanted to show 
Janey, and I had been saving it up till we got a little peace and 
quiet. We got both in the Library, away from the noise of traffic, 
with the red sunset streaming in that showed that whatever it was 
now, it meant to rain to-morrow. “No,” said Janey, “I shan’t 
take my bonnet off till I’ve had my tea; so you’ll have to put up 
with it, Master Joseph. Where’s the letter? — No, tea first, letter 
after — because then we shall really get a little peace and quiet ! ” 
Anybody would have thought to hear the way we cherished the 
expression, that riding through a well-policed district in a well- 
bred Hansom was the Battle of Prague, or the Walpurgisnacht, or 
a Typhoon. Even the tranquillity of tea in the Library alone 
didn’t come up to our ideal, and it was only when everything had 
been taken away that Janey decided the letter might be considered. 
But we would not have the lamp, and there would be plenty of 
light near the window for ever so long yet. We would sit on the 
ottoman, towards the light, and turn the letter back, like that, and 
should do capitally. 

The letter was from my Father — ^but in his wife’s handwriting,, 
from his dictation. It was written from a farmhouse in Wor- 
cestershire to which he and Pheener had gone for their honey- 
moon, or part of it. It was Pheener’s ancestral home. My Father 
had insisted on going there, and being properly introduced to his 
wife’s family. I think he was haunted with an idea that if he 
did not they w^ould come up to town looking like illustrations to 
Thomson’s Seasons or the Vicar of Wakefield, and would be sure to 
abase themselves and treat him respectfully. This was more than 
he could bear. “ It’s bad enough,” he said to me, once, “ to be 
touched people’s hats to when they’re expectin’ an early settle- 
ment. But when it comes to bein’ a Squire — ! I don’t care a 
dam twopence about the whole turn-out, Beadles, stocks and all. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


309 


myself. So what I say is, make it easy accordin’.” His experi- 
ences had been almost exclusively London and Suburban, and his 
ideas of rural life might perhaps have been traced to playhouses 
in his early youth. I fancy I derived from him an idea of my 
own boyhood — that all countryfolk were either Good or Villains. 
This hard and fast classification must have come from some 
penny-gaff melodrama. I have not got the letter nOw — ^but I can 
remember enough of it to show that my Father’s early faith in 
bucolic virtue had received a shock. 

It began with an assurance that “my dissolute parent” con- 
tinued sober, and went on to say that “the deserving young 
woman w'ho had undertaken to ^act as a Man You Ensis to the 
above ’ was acquitting herself well in the situation to which it had 
pleased God to call her.” 

“ Oh, I see ! ” said J aney. “ Amanuensis, of course ! I couldn’t 
make out what he meant. I suppose he said it a syllable at a time, 
and she wrote it down.” 

“ That was it. He knows the word from Hickman. He’s 
rather fond of long words now and then — regards them as 
’andy when parties are inquisitive. He relies on words he 
doesn’t know the meaning of, as a means of withholding infor- 
mation.” 

“I see — but it’s risky. Let’s have more of the letter. What- 
ever does he mean by what comes next ? ‘ I am particularly 

well pleased, myself, and Mrs. V. she shares our sentiments, 
as in duty bound.’ What does he mean by our? Is it like 
Royalty ? ” 

“ Let’s have a look — stop a bit ! I see now — ^but I’m glad Violet 
isn’t here.” 

Janey examined the text again, and broke into a laugh; she saw 
too ! “ He really is too ridiculous for anything,” she said. And 

we went on deciphering the letter in the growing darkness. It 
dwelt on the self-denying character of Pheener’s guardianship of 
the whiskey-bottle, in view of the fact that consistency dictated 
total abstinence. “Not a nip for her poor self!” said the letter. 
^‘Otherwise contrairiness,” meaning thereby that nips and super- 
vision would be inconsistent. It then described the depraved con- 
dition of the rural population. “ As this leaves me at present the 
population is drunk.” The Parson and the Doctor seemed sober, 
but this he ascribed to successful dissimulation, the result of better 
training. Owing chiefly to the Parson the morality of the villagers 
was low. “The offsprings are fat but illegitimate, having whit© 
hair and blue eyes — and as red as lobsters.” At this point Janey; 


310 


JOSEPH VANCE 


said I wasn’t to put my eyes out any longer — I suggested ringing 
for the lamp. But sitting in the half-dark, looking out at a new 
moon and an evening star, was too nice to spoil, so we put the 
letter away and enjoyed the peace and quiet. If we hadn’t got 
both now we were hard to satisfy. However, there is a ser- 
pent in every Eden, and in this one it was my ridiculous con- 
sciousness. 

“What nonsense, you silly old Joe,” said Janey. “If any one 
does come into the room, what does it matter? It isn’t as if 
people were bom yesterday ! I was just enjoying the light so, and 
you spoiled it all by jumping up. It isn’t anybody I ” 

Wasn’t it? Well, at any rate, I wasn’t responsible now, if any- 
body did come in. So I readjusted the status-quo and went on 
helping to enjoy the light. It faded, as its way is, and then we 
enjoyed the twilight. 

I don’t precisely know how it happened. There may have been 
some trace of obstinacy on my part; aware of a newcomer in the 
room, but reluctant to be convicted again of ridiculous conscious- 
ness; and hence the development of events. Of this I am certain, 
that neither Janey nor I stirred a finger or spoke a word until we 
were startled by a hand that came round the neck of each of us 
and a voice that said, “ Oh, do say it’s Grizzle ! ” And it was 
Lossie. 

It was actually Lossie herself! If she wasn’t absolutely and 
precisely the same Lossie that went away through the door she 
had just come in at, four years ago, she was near enough — nearer 
far than I had ever hoped. Eor I had conjured up many images 
of altered Lossies. There were two in particular I rather 
shuddered to anticipate; a fat overpowering Lossie with a redun- 
dant dictatorial manner, and a flavour of Commanders-in-chief 
and Durbars, and a dried Lossie, a slice of human toast as it 
were, incapable of doing anything for itself and peevish with the 
servants, but hung all over with very large diamonds which had 
belonged to Moguls. In those days some of us still formed our 
ideas of India from the “ Surgeon’s Daughter ” and Macaulay’s 
“Lord Clive and Warren Hastings,” helped a little by Thackeray, 
and in my case a dash of a Lascar who swept a crossing somewhere 
near Golden Square. 

But this newcomer who broke into our peace and quiet was no 
distempered imagination of mine, but a Lossie so like herself, 
at any rate in a half-dark room, that the four years seemed to have 
vanished. She brought with her problems that would hardly wait 
till after an extravagant outburst of welcome for solution. An 


JOSEPH VANCE 


311 

exact verbal record of what followed may explain itself. Let 
it try. 

“ Weil, but then it really is Grizzle, after all! You foolish boy, 
why couldn^t you say so ? ” 

‘‘But — how did you get upstairs?” This was Janey, but she 
had to wait. “ Of course it is,” I said. “ But who ever said It 
wasn’t ? ” 

“Nobody said it wasn’t, Joe dear. But you never said who it 
was. Wait till you see your own letter!” 

“But how did you get upstairs?” said Janey, returning to the 
charge. 

“ Anyhow, it is you. Grizzle dear — and I am so delighted I 
can’t tell you. But when did it come all right ? I am in 
such a bewilderment — I can’t make head or tail of it. Your 
letter, dear old Joe! — all about her, and she, and how was I to 
tell?” 

“But we never heard any cab,” said Janey again. But Lossie 
was much too keen after her own mystification to attend to 
Janey ’s. And Janey knew she was herself, so that no ex- 
planation seemed necessary. A fait-accompU has leisure to 
wait for an official raison-d^etre. But the cab, or its absence, 
called aloud for elucidation, and I thought it shorter to talie 
Janey’s part. Whereon Lossie made concession — but in a par- 
enthesis : — 

“ (Because we had a stupid cabman, and his wheel came off — 
at least it would have, only a policeman told him. It’s all right! 
Anne and Sam have gone out to see to it. We were all but here.) 
You know, dear Joe, for anything there was in your letter, it 
might have been the eldest Miss Flowerdew.” This speech 
contained (to me, who knew the ground) an aspersion on this 
young lady — a hint that she was a monument of uncoveted 
singleness. I waived the eldest Miss Flowerdew, and kept to the 
point. 

“ But Janey wrote a red-ink letter all over mine. Loss. And 
signed her name to it. Yours very affectionately, Jane Spencer. 
Didn’t you, J aney dear ? ” 

“ Of course, J oe ! And there was no room. And you said it 
didn’t matter if I couldn’t get the r in, because Lossie Desprez 
would be sharp enough to guess.” 

“ Bed ink ! ” exclaimed Lossie. But sounds without arrested 
explanation: one sound of a small, very voluble boy, talking to a 
Hindoo ayah in her own language; another of an indignant and 
injured baby, who, however, accepted a composition; others of 


312 


JOSEPH VANCE 


hirelings who were being exhorted to take care of the lamp what« 
ever they did, and to be very careful of the walls. They and their 
hoarseness, and their flavour, were shut out, and the others let in. 
But the babies were (unjustly, it seemed to me) classified as 
unfit for society owing to fatigue. The little boy said to me. 
You’re not grandpapa,” which seemed to me reasonable. I 
thought it a good remark, but Lossie condemned it as below par, 
>3 saying I had no idea how shrewd and apposite her son’s remarks 
■ ' were when he wasn’t half asleep. Both he and Baby were 
too sleepy to be countenanced, and their removal was just giv- 
ing an opening for renewed elucidations, when Lossie started 
up, crying out that there was darling Papa — she knew his 
step — and ran downstairs to meet him. I did not immediately 
follow. 

I don’t know what other people’s experience is, but I myself 
have never known a home-coming that was not spoiled — or the 
edge taken off it — ^by the reluctance of cabmen, or intruders whom 
they aid and abet, to accept any sum of money whatever for their 
services, and to go away without a grievance. I am sure the 
daughters of the horse-leech (though it is difficult to imagine them 
being required to go more than four miles an hour or lending a 
^and up with anything too hea\"y for you) would not have been so 
exacting as this class of persons. Anyhow, poor Lossie’s long- 
looked-forward-to hug of her father was not enjoyed as thor- 
oughly as it might have been. She ran out into the front garden 
to meet him, and as a background was aware of two injured, but 
of course civil and sober, instances of neglect of washing, who 
were begging pardon, but it was rather hard. They were surprised 
and hurt that a world they had hitherto had confidence in should 
offer them eightpence for carryin’ all them boxes from over agin’ 
the Kobin ’Ood Tavern and then upstairs. The job was worth 
’arf-a- crown. And the sum in their outstretched hands, remind- 
ing one of pictures of St. Francis, was eighteeni)ence ! There was 
nothing for it but largesse — and then Lossie and the Doctor got 
away and escaped into the house. 

Botheration take the Men,” said Lossie. “ Why didn’t Anne 
give them heaps of money and get them out of the way ? ” 

They would only have asked for more, dear,” said the Doctor. 
‘‘It’s their nature to. — No, dear! I’m all right! ” Because he had 
turned pale, and drawn in his breath sharply; and if he had not 
answered the question before it became words, Lossie would have 
asked what the matter was. How very odd that I remember this 
now, and it was forgotten in a moment at the time ! “ I’ve had a 


JOSEPH VANCE 


313 

long walk with the Professor,” said he, “ and I didn^t expect you, 
don’t you see ? ” 

Then we went in steadily for a good explanation. never 
got any red ink, Joe,” said Lossie, sitting on her father’s knee like 
a little girl, and caressing his head. Only a stupid little letter to 
Marseilles, saying I should see her so soon myself you wouldn’t 
write anything more. How was I to know who her was ? It might 
have been altogether a new her. But it isn’t, and I’m so glad 1 ” 
And Lossie came off her father’s knee expressly to kiss Janey again, 
and then went back. 

It was all clear enough now. Lossie had never had a hint of 
the renewed treaty — as we should have seen she couldn’t had we 
thought it out. But one gets very foolish over letter-dates. She 
had seen from my Marseilles letter that there was a her of im- 
portance who had slipped into my life; and had come on, perhaps 
all the quicker. All had gone well till about a hundred yards 
from the gate, when the cab-wheel incident occurred. Impatience 
was too strong to be endured, and Lossie forsook the cab and her 
offspring to run on to the house and get assistance. Kapid ex- 
planations despatched Anne and Sam to the rescue of the cab, 
and Lossie was left confronted with a new girl — one bom yester- 
day, as it were! The new girl could testify that Dr. Thorpe had 
gone for a walk with a Professor, that Mr. Joseph Thorpe was in 
Somersetshire, but that the other Mr. Joseph was in the Library 
with his cousin. This last needless complication was only owinj^ 
to the new girl’s intense delicacy, and desire not to create gossip! 
She was a very nice new girl, I’m sure almost too nice for this 
rough and wicked world ! But no ! She didn’t know the cousin’s 
name. 

So then, Master J oe,” said Lossie, “ I only waited long enough 
to find that there was a letter from Hugh — here it is with all right 
written outside — and then I came up as quietly as I could and 
sneaked into the room. And I couldn’t see who it was till I looked 
round Grizzle’s bonnet. And I was so glad ! ” 

“ I should have heard you coming, dear Mrs. Despr — well, 
Lossie then! Only for my bonnet.” And Janey removes that 
obstruction and stands, half-leaning on the table, swinging it by 
the ribbons. And the new girl brings the lights. 

And as I sit here, thirty years later, I can see them still — I 
have only to close my eyes on my new quire of foolscap, and there 
is the Doctor in his writing-chair of old days, beaming with happi- 
ness and all the colour back in his cheeks again — of course it was 


314 


JOSEPH VANCE 


only the excitement, or at that time we thought so. And there is 
Lossie, incredibly like herself, running her fingers through his 
hair, and patting and petting his cheeks. And there is Janey, who 
cannot take her eyes off Lossie, whom every new passage of my old 
story has made more and more a wonder to her. And there am I, 
quite a third person to my now self, a young man who gets happier 
and happier at every visible interchange, every cross-current of 
word or feeling, that passes between the two women whom he does 
not speak of to himself as his old love and his new — but that is the 
right language for the passer-by, nevertheless. Remember that it 
is my own life I am writing, and that I cannot analyze myself as 
other than I was. I daresay it was all wrong. But if Lossie, who 
is still living (as I have said before), could come to me now, my 
first word to her would be about Janey. 

We were married about eight weeks after Lossie’s return and 
went away to Normandy. I am not so clear about any part of 
that eight weeks as I am about the foregoing. Salient important 
facts are: that Lossie was just in time to help Janey with her 
things; that vain attempts were made by legal minds to engineer 
a marriage settlement so as to procure a broil; that Violet, though 
she did not refuse to come to our wedding at the church in Essex 
Street, High Holborn — (Janey was a Unitarian if she was any- 
thing, and what I was Heaven only knows!), nevertheless made a 
merit of doing so, and I know attended a service at Margaret 
Street, Regent Street, in the afternoon to get assoilzied, as it were. 
Also that she was very anxious to give us a wedding present that 
would be really useful, which was not intended as an insinuation 
that Janey was unsuited for decoration, but was akin to it, and 
showed that her mind was classifying us involuntarily. We were 
people of our sort — she was a person of hers. It was so true too, 
when you come to think of it! A good many of our friends were 
needlessly desirous of giving us really serviceable things, and 
avoiding gewgaws and fal-lals, but I fancy a change of motive 
came into that movement of our Wedding March when Janey’s 
Streatham aunt wanted to give something really useful, and spend 
say twenty pounds; and Janey begged for twenty silk umbrellas, 
which would last her lifetime, and keep for ever in those nice 
shiny oilskins. Our great present was Janey’s father’s splendid 
Broadwood grand. “ And there ! ” said she, I can only play 
tunes on it.” 

No one can play tunes on it now; nor could it be put in order 
again after all these years in a Pantechnicon — so they tell me. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


315 


I wonder whether that is true, or whether it is only that if old 
works could be replaced no one would ever want new cases. I 
always think the reverse is true of me; and that if I could get a 
new case, the old works would do as they stand. 

Wlien I went to choose out a few oddments from that Pantech- 
nicon on my return from Brazil, I found the same guardian in 
charge that had received them twenty years ago. He was just 
married when I went — so he had told me. This time, he had been 
married again, fifteen years. He was looking forward to the 
wedding of the first wife’s son, a good-looking young man; on the 
top of whom, when his father pointed him out to me, was an 
escritoire weighing two or three hundredweight, which he seemed 
to make light of. “ That boy’s a good boy,” said his father, “ but 
you might say he killed his mother, in startin’ himself.” And all 
that boy’s life I had been in Brazil. Was it really as long as that! 
Then his father added, “That was his mother you knew” — ■ 
although of course I didn’t, and he knew I didn’t; but there was a 
little link with the past, and he claimed it. I was not unfeeling 
enough to contradict him. I chose out some small article from 
among my leavings and, crossing it off the list, asked his father to 
give it to him as a wedding present. I thought Janey would like 
me to. 

But how come I to have wandered away to the Pantechnicon? 
T remember. It was the Broadwood. Well! — that Piano, and all 
the things they gave us, and all the things we bought, went as ap- 
pointed to our house that was to be, in Cheyne Row, Chelsea. But 
I am using the word “ things ” in the Dictionary sense, not in its 
more reserved and exalted one. In that sense, Janey’s “things” 
that Lossie helped her to buy, mostly travelled out to Normandy 
with us, and were a great satisfaction to the Douane, so heavily 
was it tipped to avoid turning them all out, and rumpling them, 
and creasing them, and suspecting them to be lined with tobacco. 
“I know they’ll spoil that fichu we were so long choosing,’^ said 
Janey. And I can’t expect you to understand why “we” gave me 
so much pleasure. 

But it did! As I think now of that two months before my 
wedding, and how Lossie threw herself into all our arrangements, 
and how Janey encouraged her to do so, it presents itself to me as 
one of the happiest times of my life. If I put my writing aside 
now and smoke a pipe before I go to bed I shall thinly of nothing 
else. It has quite cancelled the cantilevers, which are in the 
printer’s hands by this time. 

Yes! that was thirty years ago. And what a narrow escape I 


316 


JOSEPH YANCE 


had had of having all my affection for Lossie turned to gall and 
wormwood. It might have been, but for her and her husband, 
and the way they could understand a boy just out of his teens. 
It never has been, for all that has come to pass since, and never 
will be now, in the short speU that has still to be. But I wish 
what has come to pass could have been otherwise. 


CHAPTEE XXXV 


OP THE NEW FACTORY IN CHELSEA. OF THE BACKSLIDING OF OLD Wt. 
VANCE. HOW JOE DREAMED A STRANGE DREAM, AND ITS INTERRUP- 
TION. OF THE GREAT FIRE, AND HOW MR. VANCE WAS RESCUED. 
BUT SPRAINED. SO FAR AS CAN BE ASCERTAINED, FULLY COVERED bV 
INSURANCE. AN OLD BURNED BOARD, WITH WRITING ON IT. 

On our return we settled at our house in Cheyne Row, Chelsea. 
We were very near the Macallisters, who were facing the river in 
an old house close to the old bridge beyond the Church. Bony and 
I could walk over in half an hour to my Father’s house at Clap- 
ham, behind which we were still carrying on the engineering 
business, although very much cramped for space. At this date 
the useful word ructions had not appeared in the language, so I 
presume the complications that occurred between the workmen of 
the two separate concerns were spoken of as dissensions or col- 
lisions, or rows or shindies, when they were discussed by the office 
or the workshop respectively. My Father never described dif- 
ficulties of this sort in detail; but, with a true instinct, based on 
long experience and keen personal sympathy, went straight to the 
vera causa, Smith and Gilfillan,” he would say, for instance, 
‘^had both on ’em ’ad a drop, and was unaccommodatin’,” or 
Phipps he’s a peppery card, and when the worse it’s trying to the 
temper.” But he avoided secondary or apparent causes, as in the 
first of these cases, in which the respective carmen in charge of 
the carts of Vance pere and Vance fils, had contrived to get their 
vehicles locked in the yard entry because neither would wait until 
the other was clear, and both had been guilty of bad packing. 

We ’ad the best of it,” said my Father. My man he walked 
into yours to the toon of forty pound odd; and yours, he only 
smashed a window frame or two. Fifteen shillins ! ” Both the 
window frames and the piece of shafting that smashed it were 
projecting unduly; but then the shafting formed part of a lath'e 
warranted to make everything in the universe to within a two- 
thousandth of an inch, while window frames went by the dozen^j ^ 
and you put ’em down at so much. 

However, this incident and many like it showed the necessity 

312 J, 


BIS 


JOSEPH VANCE 


new premises for one or both, and as my Father clung to the old 
place from association, it was decided that a new Engineering 
Works, superseding all previous undertakings, should be erected 
in Chelsea not far from the houses of the heads of the concern. 

You see, Nipper dear,” said he to me, I can’t be cut adrift 
from your Mother.” And so closely did he adhere to this plan of 
life, that when I asked Pheener (as I prefer to go on calling her) 
when she was going to finish hanging the pictures in the drawing- 
room she replied that she had spoken to Mr. Vance, and thought 
he would prefer that they should remain as they were. “ Because 
of Missis, you know. Master Joseph,” added she, forgetful of a 
eolemn promise to drop the “Master.” I let it stand this time! 
Also I left unmolested against the wall the two “ Proofs before 
Letters.” 

However, it was not until the third year of my marriage that the 
new Factory became a reality. This was the time of the zenith of 
my Father’s prosperity. Had it not been for this, very likely 
the works in Chelsea would not have been on so grand a scale. 
But when your builder accepts all your directions, and carries 
them out free of charge, you are apt to run into extravagance, 
even if he is not constantly urging you on not to be stingyin’ 
yourself down for the sake of a shillin’ or so. 

It is because this is only a domestic history, of indefinite pur- 
pose, that I do not enter at length into the details of the engineer- 
ing business. The Spherical Engine came into my domestic recor<i 
naturally; so did the Macallister Repeater. But the various de- 
vices of sawing, shaping, and planing machines for which we were 
known have nothing whatever to do with it. Therefore I omit a 
technical history whose purpose would be even more indefinite, and 
for doing so I claim (should you ever happen to exist) your 
gratitude. 

The delay in the completion of the Chelsea Works was respon- 
sible for my being still in harness at Clapham at the date of the 
occurrence I have now to describe, and for all the incidents that 
my being on the spot involved. I will give the narrative as it 
comes to my recollection. 

I had been feeling uneasiness about my Father on the old 
Whiskey question. During the first six months of his married life 
his wife had been most exemplary, carrying away the bottle, after 
I an allowance, with Spartan fortitude. I date a certain relaxation 
of discipline from my own wedding-breakfast, when it was im- 
j possible to cast a damper on my dear old Daddy’s innocent en- 
‘^joyment of my happiness by reminding him of his own short- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


319 


comings in the past. How would you have had me set about it? 
We did all we could in the way of hypnotic suggestion and jocular 
interdict; but, as you may imagine, the ^^only this once” conces- 
sion was too popular for resistance, and its justice was so obvious 
to the concessionaire that he took advantage of it after the 
feeblest protest. He failed altogether to carry out a promise to 
pretend he was sober, and to make a short story shorter still, he 
got drunk. 

This unfortunate incident, which could only have been pre- 
vented (as I think) by keeping him away from my wedding, made 
a break in the continuity of his wife’s wholesome discipline. It 
discouraged her, and made an unfortunate precedent. For was it 
not clear as daylight that next day the delinquent was as right as 
a trivet? Well, then — the day after, at any rate! You couldn’t 
say fairer than that. You couldn’t say much about it, if you 
were me, as in this case you were; and therefore you held your 
tongue. 

When we returned from our honeymoon, with a honey fortnight 
extra to make it up to six weeks, my first enquiry of my step- 
mother was how had he been? He had been very good and 
manageable. But the more apprivoise he was, the greater was the 
tendency to reward him by concessions. It is difficult. Master 
Joseph,” said Pheener, ‘^to say he shan’t have only half a glass 
more when he says he won’t ask for it. If he was to grab for the 
bottle I should just run away with it and there an end.” I could 
see that docility was fatal. 

Another difficulty that had to be met was a practice of anticipa- 
ting his allowance under a solemn promise to forego it later. 
When later came, it found bygones quite ready to be bygones, if 
only you wouldn’t bother. And it was always only that once ! How 
intensely once everything is, if you only look at it at the time ! All 
the subsequent lapses occurred once and once only; but then each 
occurred once, and exhausted its individual powers of mischief. 

The dipsomaniac, in spite of the many syllables that palliate 
him, is no better than the sot in his forlorn brevity. The former, 
obtains access to stimulants whenever he is able to elude the 
watchfulness of his guardians; the latter gets nips when you ain’t 
lookin’. The former endeavours to conceal the symptoms of in- 
toxication; the latter tries to ’umbug you into thinking him sober. 
The former suffers agonies of remorse after each relapse, and 
follows it with good resolutions, which he breaks. The latter does 
it again. That is the only traceable difference. For both go to 
the bad. 


320 


JOSEPH VANCE 


My Father might have gone to the bad, had he lived long enough. 
For when I look back on his relations to the whiskey-bottle I am 
able to divide their history into three distinct chapters. The first 
begins at my Mother’s death. The second at Lossie Thorpe’s 
wedding. The third at my own. This last is a short chapter, but 
is a record of a steady degringolade. The fact is that Pheener, 
left alone, was not strong enough for the position. And I could 
see at once when I came back from my visit to Normandy that 
Pheener’s expression “ good and manageable ” was a tribute to my 
Father’s moral nature, rather than an affirmation of her success. 

It was not, however, fair to expect Pheener to combat her hus- 
band’s unhappy propensity, and check it except when he was well 
within range. Had he been always under her eye, I believe mat- 
ters might have gone better. But unfortunately, the growth of 
the business involved constant additions of premises, and one of 
these, a City Office of a most convincing nature, redolent of 
polished mahogany compartments, and classification and solvency, 
demanded my Father’s almost daily presence. I don’t exactly 
know what he did there, but then I don’t exactly know what any 
one did. For even Mr. Hickman, now a most august functionary, 
and understood to be liable to break out into a partnership at any 
moment, as Vesuvius into an eruption, never seemed to be doing 
anything. Some work must have been done some time, or it 
would have been impossible to be referred by folio 387 to folio 2, 
and by folio 2 to folio 763 P. L., whatever that meant, with any 
result but discomfiture and despair. Certainly my Father didn’t 
do it. It would have been contrary to his great principle of never 
doing anything with his own hands. But it appeared to be neces- 
sary to the business that he should spend half the day in the very 
luxurious inner sanctum he had provided for himself. And there 
was nothing in the world to hinder the secretion of whiskey in 
any of the responsible safes and cupboards that made such a 
parade of candid labels describing their contents. I dwell on this 
point for the exoneration of Pheener, who I really believe did her 
best under the circumstances. 

It was in the middle of a six weeks’ frost, towards the end of 
January. Everybody was miserable, except the skating public, 
which enjoyed itself all the more on that account. Its attitude 
of patronage towards the frozen and choked majority was insuf- 
ferable. I record this on the authority of my wife, as I myself 
was one of the minority, always getting a good morning’s skating 
before lunch and departing afterwards to attend to business ati 


JOSEPH VANCE 


321 


Clapham. Luckily trade was paralyzed and things were flat, or it 
would have been the worse for business. 

Vehicles were quite out of the question. So after nearly three 
hours’ skating on the Serpentine, a walk home to refresh, and 
then another to the works, I was beginning to acknowledge fatigue. 
I found my Father just going back after a late lunch. He recog- 
nized the fact that if he had been taking an abnormal glass of 
whiskey the weather would have justified it, and seized the op- 
portunity to apologize for his usual excess. “ The fog sticks in 
the toobs,” he said, and tapped the pit of his stomach to explain 
their locality. We walked to the Works together. ^‘Nobody could 
see to walk straight, in such a fog,” he said. He did not try to 
make the fog responsible for anybody’s thick articulation, so no 
doubt he was unaware of his own. I cannot recall that I observed 
anything out of the common in his condition; but I fear this only 
shows how very much in the first three years of my married life I 
had to come to accept as being within the common. 

One of the most insidious features of alcohol poisoning is the 
way it imposes on bystanders, who go into a conspiracy to assist 
each other in self-deception about its existence. The gate porter 
Caplin touched his hat to me, and looked in another direction, 
lest we should betray a mutual consciousness that the Governor 
was drunk. The men who were loading up planl^ing for that job 
of Pettigrew’s {teste Caplin) changed an attitude of lazy uncon- 
sciousness about worldly things and perfect content with status- 
quo’s for an ostentatious parade of ignorance that the Governor 
was drunk. The yard-foreman Shaw’s manner said, almost 
audibly, that whoever else was drunk, the Governor wasn’t. But 
his tongue only said we wanted a little wind to blow the fog away. 
The yard dog Nelson alone had the candour to express a doubt, for 
he smelt my Father suspiciously, and retired dissatisfied. He 
followed his tail twice round to get its opinion; but it shirked 
giving any; so Nelson heaved a deep sigh and went to sleep. Or 
rather pretended to, for I saw his eye fixed on my Father when he 
thought no one was looking. 

I fell in with the general imposture, and pretended there was 
not the slightest reason why I should not depart to my own portion 
of the Works. So I left my poor Daddy giving perfectly intel- 
ligent instructions about points awaiting his decision, in a very 
thick and husky tone of voice. “Do I ever make a mistake, 
Nipper? Come now!” he would say to me, when I endeavoured 
to read him a Whiskey-lecture — and I was always obliged to con- 
fess that it was almost never, at any rate. But the worst part of 


322 


JOSEPH VANCE 


this excessive clearness of mind in some such cases is its produc- 
tion of overweening confidence up to the moment of some tremen- 
dous betrayal, when its victim is involved in a catastrophe that 
might have been avoided if a few lesser blunders had occurred to 
give warning. My Father’s mistake was a cruel instance, for 
though it was one that he would never have committed when per- 
fectly sober, it was also one committed every day by persons of 
less judgment than his, even with a small allowance of upset from 
drinlc. On this occasion no doubt he was affected rather more 
than usual. 

I passed up into my floor of the factory, where all the lathes 
were busily at work, though it was, as the shop-foreman said, 
mighty hard to see the tip of your own nose. The gas burned 
wretchedly, as it always does in thick fogs. Demand does not 
create supply at an hour’s notice, unless it has been anticipated 
and provided for; a reservation which rather takes the edge off 
that great truth of Political Economy, and leaves the demander 
making use of strong language ineffectually. In the present case 
the supply was even worse than usual in a bad fog. “It’s not 
often as bad as this,” said Willis, the shop-foreman. “ It might 
have been in the main, only I see nothing wrong with the street 
lamps.” Willis was astute and far-sighted, and a great consola- 
tion to me. I told him to go down to the meters, and take the 
pressure as near as possible to ours. For I saw the light in their 
building was better, and of course each had its own meter. 

Presently Willis came back in haste. “ There’s an escape some- 
where in the building,” said he. “The pressure’s a lot better at 
the meter.” 

“ Smell enough to knock your head off down the passage over 
agen the wash’us crossing over by the Stores.” The speaker was a 
young man at a lathe, who did not take his eyes off his work or 
show any interest in his own speech, which he appeared to have 
deputed to his tongue to say, and washed his mind of. I told 
Willis to go down and see about it, and went into my little office. 
There I found a heap of letters to grapple with — one manifestly 
from India which ought to have gone to the house. I put it in my 
pocket to read later, and gazed blankly at the stack that remained. 
I was very tired, and I knew well that ten minutes’ sleep would 
reinstate me completely — it always did. Yes! I would have my 
ten minutes’ sleep and then tackle the correspondence. 

No sooner had I sat down in the visitor’s chair near the fire than 
I began to dream. I was in no time the Mayor or Syndic of a 
glorious old town at the foot of a precipice; and on the edge of 


JOSEPH VANCE 


323 


that precipice was a huge projecting rock big enough to accom- 
modate what I had known from my earliest boyhood as the 
Schloss. For in that dream I recalled endless memories of early 
youth — as in dreams one does! But the great dread and terror 
of all the inhabitants (I think I knew most of them by name, and 
had done so for years) was that the Rock of the Schloss was slowly, 
slowly detaching itself and must some day come down, Schloss 
and all, one thundering mass of destruction and ruin, on the old 
beloved streets where I had played as a boy; on the stately town- 
hall, with its tower full of bells whose carillon seemed never to 
cease sounding; on the twin spires of a cathedral all Europe came 
to see and wonder at. How harrowed was I (and the town-coun- 
cil) at the impending inevitable fate. And quite suddenly it oc- 
curred to me (after so many years of quiescence!) that engineer- 
ing might have a voice in the matter. A scheme was devised (I 
can recollect scientific details even now) for diverting the water 
that was wearing channels in the neck of the rock, for buttressing 
from below and so forth; and it was all arranged and we made 
ready to start when, with a deafening crash, down comes the 
Schloss bodily — and no doubt converted the whole place to a heap 
of ruins I did not sleep long enough to see, for I only heard the 
first half of the dream-crash. I was awake in time to catch the 
last half of a tremendous concussion in the basement, to know at 
once the meaning of the rattle of broken glass that followed, the 
shouts and trampling in the black darkness (for not a light was 
left burning in our part of the building) and the voice of Willis, 
the foreman, saying, IPs the gas ! ” 

We felt our way through the darkness till the still burning gas- 
lamps in the other works enabled us to run for the scene of the 
explosion. If you can imagine a catastrophe in Hell, and an army 
of terrified men shouting to one another that they said so all along, 
and they could have told you what would happen, and that any- 
body might have known it, and that they supposed nobody had 
gone for the engines now, — if you can imagine this, and yourself 
waked suddenly, from a dream, you will know what I felt like 
within a minute of the collapse of that Schloss. 

I heard one man shout to another through the fog, where was the 
Guv^nor? — The other replied that Christopher was inside, but that 
Joseph wasn^t there. I knew that the men among themselves dis- 
tinguished us by our Christian names, but it was unusual to me 
to overhear them. Perhaps this was why I did not realize their 
meaning. I ran on through the yard towards the Stores, and just 
as I arrived the flame was breaking out of the upper windows. 


324 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Before me was the passage over agen the wash’us where the 
smell had been enough to knock your head off. A boy who was 
inexplicably called Mary Aime by the workmen pulled my sleeve 
and shouted something I could not catch. Caplin, the gate por- 
ter, shouted to him, ‘‘You shut up, young Polly, he ain’t.’^ But 
Polly was not to be put off, and shrieked again what I now heard 
was “ The Guv’noPs in there,” and pointed along the passage. 
And at this moment Shaw, the yard-foreman, and another came 
running out of the entry pursued by smoke, having ventured in in 
search of the Governor. 

It was a back-puff of smoke, such as comes from a first-lighted 
fire; and I saw the fag end of it caught back by the returning 
draught. I dashed in at once, followed by others. To he in that 
long passage in such smoke (the denser for the fog) would mean 
suffocation. What if it did? My Father was inside. The dog 
Nelson, anxious to be of real service, bolted in and went ahead of 
us, nearly tripping me up. On we went till Caplin called out to 
me from behind, “ I hear the Guv’nor,” and ran down a side pas- 
sage. I and the others followed. There, in a reflected gleam 
from above somewhere, was the Guv^nor, but I am sorry to say 
very drunk. It had developed, perhaps been helped, since I saw 
him. 

“ If shome of you young men,” said he, reproachfully, “ inshtead 
of makin^ all that hollerin’ outside, was to come in here and try 
to find out what’sh afire, you might make shelf shumyewsh.” 

'' Catch hold ! ” said I. And four of us seized him and dragged 
him with unscrupulous violence into the outer passage. Here he 
became so anxious to explain to us that something was on fire, that 
we made even shorter work of him, laying him out and each taking 
a limb. “It’s me. Daddy,” I thundered in his ear. And I think 
it was his hazy appreciation of the fact that he was in charge of 
the Nipper that made removal possible. He was a strong man 
and weighed nineteen stone, and action had to be very prompt. 
As it was, the last dozen steps of our exit were through another 
puff of smoke that followed us along the passage and half choked 
all four bearers, whose heads, being high, got the worst of it. He 
himself was no more inarticulate than before when we all fell in a 
heap at the entrance. 

“ I shaid shum’fn wash afire,” said he, triumphantly, and then 
with an extraordinary presence of mind added, “ See to getting 
the horshesh out.” 

“ Jump up. Daddy,” said I, for he still remained flat on his back. 
“ There’s the engines ! ” And in little more time than it takes to 


JOSEPH VANCE 


325 


tell, the whole of the yards were teeming with brazen helmets, fire 
escapes, coils of piping — everything, in fact, except the one thing 
needful, water. But my Father still lay flat on his back; and the 
developing blaze, now constantly working through at unexpected 
points, made the heat insupportable. “ Jump up. Dad,” I cried 
again, and tried to get him up. But he could not move, and when 
I tried again, he gave a cry of pain. So terrible was the heat that 
there was nothing for it but to drag him, pain or no. I shouted 
this into the ear of a brazen helmet, whose undisturbed face 
showed immediate apprehension and nodded. A litter appeared 
by magic, out of chaos, and two more undisturbed helmets some- 
how got him under weigh for the gate, and I followed with the 
world turning round. 

I had had a rather sharp shake myself in leaving the passage, 
and I was so confused that I did not realize at first that he was 
being carried into a neighbours house, not into his own. The 
brass helmet which accompanied the two volunteer bearers ex- 
plained, “No water, all froze. What wind there is dead on the 
house. Have to be moved again in an hour,” and departed with- 
out emotion. From which I gathered that we might look forward 
to the complete destruction not only of the Works but of the 
house, and probably several of the neighbours’ houses. I felt 
sorry for the neighbours, but hoped that they were as well insured 
as we were I 

My Father’s mind was struggling with his overdose of whiskey. 
His half -articulate speech (which I find no pleasure in trying to 
spell phonetically) referred chiefly to the safety of the horses; 
most of which, as a concession to the almost impassable state of 
the roads, were in the stable. But he had understood quite clearly 
what the fireman had said about the danger to the house, and was 
very anxious about a certain packet which was in what he called 
his shaving drawer. The moment he had with some difficulty ex- 
plained this and given me his keys, I left him in charge of the 
terrified strangers to whom the house belonged, and struggled 
through the crowd until I reached the cordon of police that was 
guarding the area of destruction including the house. I had some 
trouble to get passed through. The roar of the conflagration, for 
it had seized the timber-stacks in the yard, and was rejoicing at 
the capture and leaping up into the fog overhead, and the arrival 
of fresh engines, and the shouts of the mob that had sprung from 
nowhere within twenty minutes, all combined to make verbal 
communication difficult. I got through by showing my visiting 
card to a Sergeant of Police, and got into the house just as the 


326 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Salvage Corps took possession — a tranquil-minded body of men, 
steeped I should say in philosophical reflection, and quite in- 
dependent of externals. I ran upstairs to the dressing-room, but 
found the door locked. A Salvage Corps man was close behind 
me. Who might you be ? ” said he, reflectively, but did not seem 
interested in the answer. Can you open this door ? ” said I. He 
remarked that he might try, and stepping back for impetus drove 
an iron boot-heel like a battering-ram true on to the keyhole. 
The screws of the lock gave way with a crash, and I followed him 
into the room. 

There’s more ways than one,” said he, placidly, “ of getting a 
door open.” 

Every pane of glass in the window was broken, and the awful 
fog-lurid glare from the burning timber-yard less than fifty yards 
away showed what terrible progress the fire was making. I went 
straight to my Father’s dressing-table. The Salvage man de- 
murred to my interfering with anything, saying those were his 
instructions; but my production of the keys and my card was 
accepted as evidence of my status, and I soon found the packet. 
Almost before I had done this, he had closed the shutters to keep 
out the spark-drift, and made a bundle of a feather-bed and all the 
valuable tailor’s work in the cupboards. I saw why. No water 
was expected and all the salvage would be goods carried out. I 
was useless evidently; so I left the position in the hands of ex- 
perience, and fought my way back to the neighbour’s house where 
I had left my Father. 

In all this time no enquiry had crossed my mind about where 
my stepmother and the household were. But all this time ” had 
been so very little, counted by minutes. It takes long to tell, but, 
from when the Schloss came down in the dream, on that ancient 
city that I remembered every nook of, to the moment of my re- 
turn with the rescued packet to my Father at the Philip Slacks’ 
three doors off opposite, was certainly not more than thirty-five 
minutes all told. When I escaped out of the roar and confusion 
of the street into my Father’s harbour of refuge I found the terri- 
fied womankind beside him, having been persuaded to clear out 
of the threatened house by the Police. In order, however, to 
facilitate salvage operations, Pheener had carefully locked all the 
lockable doors and brought the keys away. My Father was in- 
dignant. “Whash yewsh-lockin’ dam-locks?” said he in three 
words. I consoled him by producing the packet he wanted. He 
handed it to his wife with a caution that come what might she 
should never let it go out of her keeping. But he never raised 


JOSEPH VANCE 


327 


himself up off the sofa he had been laid on, and I could see plainly 
that he was suffering from some shake or strain, encountered when 
he fell as we brought him out of the smoke. 

Those who have never been in a fire or shipwreck can form no 
idea of the overwhelming power of the unfettered elements, and 
the utter helplessness of the human unit against them. I knew 
that I could avert nothing that it was still possible to avert, and 
could save nothing that it was still possible to save, one-half as 
well as the highly trained skill that had now the task in hand. So 
I remained by my Father. He was getting very sleepy and stupid, 
and when in the course of another hour of glare and roar of fire, 
and shouting of human throats, and trampling of men and horses, 
there came a great crash followed by a greater roar and a new 
blaze, he only remarked (quite correctly) that the roof had fallen 
in. “ Schnomatter,” he added, “ shorance covers all risks,^^ and 
dropped off into a balmy slumber. 

It was then that Shaw, the yard-foreman, came in and gave me 
an insight into what had happened. His loyalty to the fiction that 
my Father was not drunk was beautiful and touching. 

“ It was just like this, Mr. Joseph — ^you see, Mr. Vance was just 
enquiring whether the architect on that job of Pettigrew’s was a 
fool, or what he was, for to go and stick up a bressumer made of 
a quarter-inch flitch and a couple of battens; when it orter have 
been a proper wrot-iron girder to carry that four story of ware- 
’uses of heavy goods — and o’ course the guv’nor was right, and any 

child might have known ” 

Get along, Shaw ! Never mind the girder.” 

Well, Sir, I says to the Guv’nor, I says, ^ I’m only cartin’ ’em 
off what’s on the order, wrote plain, and it ain’t for me to judge. 
If they was to order pickles I should have to send ’em, if they was 
in the yard.’ ” 

“ And then my Father said ? — Cut on, Shaw ” 

“ He said nothing. Sir. But I says, ^ If the order’s counter- 
signed by the storekeeper, wot then ? ’ I says. And then, he says, 
‘ Where’s that fool Kiley ? ’ — he’s that noo storekeeper came when 
Gabriel went — hashmatic chap — ^you know?” 

Of course. Get along, etc.” I was obliged to urge Shaw 
forward. And thus urged he became more concise and told how 
my Father went to look for Kiley in the stores, and he wasn’t 
there. And there was a strong smell of gas in the passage — a 
most noticeable strong smell, Mr. Vance said. And Mr. Vance, 
half asleep, corrected the adjective noticeable, and laid claim to 
having used one which I suppose Shaw’s delicacy had suppressed. 


828 


JOSEPH VANCE 


It was the one I had occasion to record once or twice at the begin- 
ning of this narrative. My Father had practically abolished its 
nse — but when by any chance he harked back to it, he was too 
honourable to shirk acknowledgment. 

Shaw had then left my Father in the passage, and gone to 
examine the upper building. He passed Willis just coming down 
after having seen me, and was coming out of the upper story to 
report that the place was choked with gas (no lights were lighted 
there, of course) when the explosion came, breaking every window 
and flinging him into the yard. He was up in an instant and 
back in the lower passage searching for my Father. He had been 
beaten back twice by the smoke when I came down. 

I am glad now to think that my Father was never conscious 
that he was the cause of the explosion. For when he told me his 
version afterwards it was clear that he had lighted a wax Vesta 
match on the wall, the box-side being worn smooth; and he cited 
this match as a proof that the air (where he was) was inexplosive. 
“ Besides,” said he, “ it wasn’t alight in the sense of burning at 
all — for a puff of wind came sharp out of a crack in the wall and 
blew it out a’most before it was lighted.” It was only too clear 
to me what had happened. My Father’s power of observation had 
not been equal to seeing that the puff of air was an explosive mix- 
ture, coming through from a magazine ready to take a hint, and 
become an exploding mixture elsewhere. A sober man would have 
seen that the puff was the birth of the explosion, which came of 
age on the other side of an eighteen-inch wall, luckily for him. 
No doubt the atmosphere, where he was, was sorry, and envied 
that in the next room for being able to blow up and cut such a 
figure. 

I left my poor Dad under his delusion. But the reason w^hy 
Vance & Co.’s works at Clapham were burned to the ground in 
three hours was that Vance was drunk, and Co. was somewhere 
else. 

The Philip Slacks, whose front parlour we had made such an 
extraordinary invasion of, were very civil; Mr. Slack having him- 
self suggested the arrangement when the firemen were hesitating 
about taking my Father into his own house. Mrs. Philip Slack 
certainly had to be convinced that fire was not communicable, like 
Leprosy, before admitting us. Once convinced, she was really 
very hospitable and gave us tea and bread and butter to console us. 
But she knew my Father had married his housemaid. So it was 
the kitchen tea in a black Rockingham pot. And the bread and 
butter was not cut off the Frehch loaf, but a household half- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


329 


quartern. Pheener told me all this later. I didnH see it myself 
at the time, but was grateful for the tea. Perhaps it wasn^t true. 

How the delayed advent of fhe water came about I do not know 
— I suppose the heat melted the icy stopper of a frozen main- 
pipe. Anyhow, it came too late to save the house, though it was 
in time to stave off a visit of the Sappers and Miners, and the 
knocking down of a street or two. Just as Bony arrived, having 
been detained as a witness by a Committee of the House of Com- 
mons, the first benevolent torrents of water were beginning to hiss 
on the ruins of the great bonfire that had given such keen pleasure 
to the inhabitants of Clapham and Battersea. 

But the works were a heap of blazing or smouldering ruins, and 
the house on the way to become so. And my Father was on his 
back unable to move. And the Philip Slacks were going out to 
dinner if the coachman thought he could manage in the fog. And 
I was glad when the fog lifted and the coachman thought he could, 
for the Philip Slacks had been very amiable, Bockingham or no, 
and I have still a hazy impression that I overheard Mrs. Philip say 
that Pheener was really almost (only-she-hated-the-expression-and 
wouldn^t-use-it-only-she-didnH-know-any-other) a lady. Whether 
she knew my poor Daddy was drunk, I don’t know. 

Cheer up, old man. He’ll be all right with rest in a day or 
two. Doctor says so.” ' 

“ Don’t be down-hearted. Jack darling. He got right before — 
long ago — and he’ll do it again. You see if he doesn’t! ” 

And as for the Factory and the House, Insurance covers every- 
thing — interruption to business — doctor’s bills — everything ! ” 
“Yes, dearest! And think what a satisfaction it is that so 
many things can be burned and no one lose anything. Because if 
you hadn’t been burned somebody else would, to make up the 
average. Papa’s told me about it heaps of times.” 

The speakers were Bony and my wife, alternately. The scene 
was our Cheyne-Kow drawing-room, before a blazing fire. The 
time was the end of toddy-time, and the time to come a most 
welcome bedtime. For we had somehow contrived to transport my 
Father in an ambulance through the fog (which had thickened 
again as soon as the Philip Slacks’ coachman had committed him- 
self) and had followed in its wake — a melancholy procession of six 
persons — Bony, my stepmother. Cook, the housemaid, house- 
parlourmaid, and myself. The boy Nips was known to be safe 
from the flames, but preferred to remain behind to impede the 
firemen, so far as opportunity should be vouchsafed to him; to 


330 


JOSEPH VANCE 


misinform the inquisitive, and in short to enjoy thoroughly ua 
occasion not likely to come twice in a life. There was fortunately, 
no difficulty about finding room for the outcasts in our two house- 
holds. So we were looking forward to sleeping in comfort, after 
just a few minutes more of recapitulation. I felt I ought to do 
my share of the cheering up, and shook off some vague misgiving 
of further evil that I had kept on feeling at intervals. 

I wasn’t thinking about that,” said I. I was thinking about 
that jolly old place I told you of at dinner — ^what the Schloss 
came down on.” 

“Poor, dear, silly Jack! And you were the Syndic?” 

“ Yes, and there was such a nice family, the Schneiders — who 
lived on the Lindenstrasse — three such pretty girls. Hedwig was 
the youngest — they might have let me sleep a little longer.” 

Just at this point Jeannie came back putting things on to go 
back home. She became so interested about Hedwig that I had 
to assure her I was married already in the dream and had five 
daughters myself, all as ugly as their mother and as worthy. Her 
sympathies were so excited that Bony had to drag her away ! ' 

“And oh, you poor, dear, darling Jack,” said Janey, when we 
were left alone. “ How you did look when you came in, black all 
over! And if I hadn’t seen you before I saw the ambulance, I 
don’t know what wouldn’t have happened! Where ever did you 
get it ? ” 

“I don’t know — it came! They are to come for it. Who are 
iheyf I haven’t the remotest idea. I have no idea of anything — 
I only know I have a letter from Lossie in my pocket I haven’t 
read, and you must read it to me at breakfast.” 

“ Give it to me. Nothing from Hedwig, I suppose ? ” 

“Nothing, so far. I’m afraid they’re all squashed. It’s very 
Bad. What’s that ? ” 

“ It’s a ring at the front-door bell. What can it be at this time 
of night ? ” 

It was an officer of the Fire-Brigade, who left other brass hel- 
mets outside, in an atmosphere of lamp glare and horse-steam 
and hoof-stamps, and came in to confer. He was quite fresh and 
tappy, an image of contentment emerging from a fog. 

“ Sorry to trouble you again, Sir. Mr. Joseph Vance, I think? 
On account of particulars for report. Christopher Vance and 
Son, Builders — ?” 

“And Co.,” said I, “not Son. And Vance and Macallister, 
Engineers.” 

“ Quite right, Sir,” said he, referring to a pocketbook as though 


JOSEPH VANCE 


331 


confirming an accurate guess, that did me credit. Building of 
five stories in use as Workshops, Out-buildings, and Timber-yard. 
Detached Kesidence of two stories, occupied by Mr. C. Vance, 
Cause fire due Gas Explosion in basement. Owing to water-sup- 
ply — ^hum — hm — impeded by frost — ^found impossible — save any 

portion of buildings. Loss falls on ? Can you kindly supply 

Insurance Offices, Mr. Vance? 

Pm afraid I canT. My Father attended to all that. Stop a 
minute! If he’s awake I’ll ask him.” And I ran upstairs to do 
so, but Pheener, who had remained with him all the evening, and 
had now gone to bed herself, told me through the door that he was 
quite sound, and it would be a pity to wake him. I agreed, and 
went back. Janey had been chatting with the officer. “ Oh, Jack 
dear,” said she, it is so sad — poor Nelson — the rough dog you 
know that lived in the yard? You know? Well, he was found 
dead in the basement — not burned, but choked by the smoke.” 

) ‘‘Just under the first explosion, Mr. Vance. Flame didn’t 
reach — but smoke and heat to kill a dozen dogs. Must have got 
in at the first go-off. Otherwise no casualty. With reference to 
' the Insurance, Mr. Vance?” 

“ My Father’s asleep, and I don’t want to wake him. Can’t you 
say merely that the premises were fully insured ? ” 

“ So far as can be ascertained, fully covered by insurance — 
naming no office.” Thus the fireman, who then took his leave, 
declining refreshment, and hoping he hadn’t put us out. 

“ WTiat an odd hope for a fireman ! ” said J aney. “ But think of 
that poor dog ! ” 

Poor Nelson! He had seen clearly that my Father was not able 
to take care of himself, and had run in to help. He overshot his 
mark in the passage, and no doubt went searching about in the 
smoke until he met his death. 

The young person who does me out, and sees to me and lights 
my fire too late, and makes my bed without tucking it in at the 
end — so that spectres would get hold of my toes if I didn’t always 
religiously tuck it in myself — this young person could not get 
the fire to burn this morning of March, 1895. I am not surprised. 
If I had been a fire laid like that I would not have burned, my- 
self. But the young person, Betsy Austin, driven to lawlessness 
by failure, appropriated a portion of a broken drawer of an old 
desk I was patching up, and forcing it in upwards and sideways 
and downwards into the incombustible matrix she was blowing 
the smoke out of into her eyes and the room, decided that it had 


332 


JOSEPH VANCE 


caught and would do now, and devoted herself to laying the 
breakfast. I was just in time to snatch the bit of mahogany from 
the fire and put it in my bath-water. It fibzzed and went out, and 
then tried to pretend it wasn’t spoiled, ineffectually. 

And it made the whole place smell strong of extinguished burn- 
ing wood. And the smell thereof brought back to me the day of 
my last chapter, as nothing but a smell can bring things back. It 
brought back my ride down with Bony to the cinder heap that had 
been the works, and the Hansom Cabman, who, when he was told 
where to drive, said, I know — close by where the fire was last 
night.” His respect for us went up enormously when he found 
that we were in a sort of way The Eire ” ourselves, or near 
relations. 

Oh, the ghastliness of the ruin and destruction! It was heart- 
sickening to think of the contents of that dreadful heap of 
smouldering rubbish that choked up what had been the lowest 
story of the main building. It was still rebellious, but was being 
pumped on by a dispassionate engine, which was so sure it would 
beat in the end that it never lost its temper, or said an angry 
word. I knew that heap contained the caput mortuum of all my 
drawings of machinery inventions for years past, and all the costly 
plant that was soon to have been carefully removed to the new 
Chelsea buildings, and half-completed contracts by the ton. And 
I knew the worst of it would be — that everything in that heap 
would be just quite spoiled, but no more. There would be lathes 
that would still do to stand outside a second-hand dealer’s in 
Southwark, but that would never turn true again; planing ma- 
chines with bed-plates like beds on which angular people have had 
sleepless nights; drilling-machines that wagged their drills as dogs 
their tails; things with eccentric movements whose eccentricities 
had become ungovernable. In that heap were those letters that I 
had seen on my desk, all but the one from Lossie. That was 
something saved, at any rate. 

Eiremen with small nozzles were putting finishing touches on 
the extinction, after the coarse work done by the big water- jets, 
just as painters use small sables after hog-hair has done its worst. 
Every now and then came a crash of falling timber or wall — 
tenacious bits that had remained behind when the roof fell in. 
Daring helmeted climbers with axes were helping down these 
stragglers, and as it seemed to me running needless risks to this 
end. I thought all hands would be best employed shoring up the 
front of the high building, and said so to the head fireman. He 
evidently doubted our statement that we were Vance & Macallister, 


JOSEPH VANCE 


333 


and held a kind of court of identification under the wall we had 
thought dangerous. Having reluctantly conceded that we had an 
interest in the property, he looked up at the overhanging wall (the 
fall of which would have killed all three) and expressed confidence 
in its stability, but to indulge our whim remarked that you might 
shore up most walls. There were any number of men available, 
so I had a temporary affair rigged up at once. I was gratified to 
hear from the same fireman later in the day, that if it hadnT been 
for that bit of timber ‘^we’^ thought of putting up, that wall 
would have come down on some of us. He must have been a 
brother of Pring. 

If a burned-out factory is sad, a burned-out home is sadder still. 
One half-burned is perhaps the worst of all. The roof of my 
Father’s house and the upper floors were completely wrecked by 
the fire. The lower ones were scorched by the burning ceilings, 
but the deluge of water that came at last had done its best to 
finish the job. Some of the furniture and pictures had been got 
away; but a good deal remained, the Salvage Corps having dealt 
with the lower rooms last, believing that the water would be in 
time to save them. I saw my Father’s leather armchair in the 
snuggery, in a stack covered with tarpaulins to shelter it from the 
expected deluge. There also I found his writing-table, which I 
was glad of, but it was tight in the stack, and the building was 
not safe, so for the present I made no effort to extract it. On the 
chimneypiece stood an empty whiskey-bottle looking jaunty. How 
it must have chuckled over its handiwork! - 

Two refrains ran continuously through the whole — one cheerful, 
the other depressing. The first was the universal conviction that 
Insurance covered everything, the second the equally universal, 
all-pervading stench of the water on the burned wood. No won- 
der the same smell brought it all back to me so vividly this morn- 
ing! It drove me away at last from a place where I could be of 
no further use. I merely arranged with the Salvages in charge 
for the delivery of some goods (which I specified) at the house in 
Chelsea, and told my partner I should go home, whether he did or 
not. I wanted to see my Father, who was probably awake by 
now. 

‘‘Just take one more turn round,” said Bony, “in case there’s 
I anything.” 

j We took one more turn round, and there was nothing. Only, 

I just as we were leaving what had been the Office at the Works, my 
I eye was caught by something that struck me as familiar. It was 
a burned piece of board, some two feet long, with an inscription 


334 


JOSEPH VANCE 


on it. And enough was still visible to show me, who knew it of 
old, that it ran, “ C. Vance — Builder — Repairs — Drains promptly 
attended to.” 

No wonder the smell of my burnt desk brought it back. I will 
not replace that bit of broken drawer (for I know it will smell), 
though Betsy Austin expresses contempt for my ^‘finicking” pre- 
cision, and alleges that I am making a fuss about nothing. “ Just 
as good as ever it was,” is her verdict. She does not seem to see 
that an isolated escape from her destroying hand will do little 
to counteract her defects as a maid-of-all-work. She will speak 
of me downstairs as a sort of precise old maid, bent on inter- 
rupting the well-organized routine of what she calls her Work. 
This presents itself to me as a whirlwind. And no slight one 
either, for Betsy’s arms are not only fine arms, but strong ones, 
and she can just as soon smash the furniture as tidy it up, which 
is an accomplishment she claims perfection in. 

Am I sure I am not writing this with the intention of leaving 
it open on my desk that Betsy may read it, and be wounded by my 
poignant sarcasms? I am, because I know that Betsy would be 
adamant, and would include it in the broad category she describes 
as my nonsense. 

But I have nothing to do with Betsy now. I have to get back 
to my sheep — ^my sheep that are memories, browsing in the mem- 
ories of pastures of thirty years ago ! 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


OF A BRAIN-WAVE THAT WENT TO INDIA. AND OF AN OPTICAL DELUSION. 

HOW JOE TOOK THE NEWS TO DR. THORPE, AND BEPPINO WAS A BORE. 

AUNT IZZY TOO DEAF FOR ANYTHING. DR. THORPE AND JOE WALK TO 

CHELSEA. 

I WONDER what Lady Desprez meant, J ack ? ” said J aney that 
afternoon. She and I and my stepmother were at tea in the draw- 
ing-room. ^^Lady who?” said I. For I was always forgetting 
that now that her husband was Sir Hugh, Lossie was a Lady. 

Vv^ell — Lossie, then!” replied Janey. “What we read in her 
letter at breakfast. Give me her letter and I’ll read it again. Or 
stop a minute, till I send your Father his tea. If you’re sure 
neither of you will have another cup, I can send the pot up.” We 
were sure, so, as I had not seen very much of my Dad, who re- 
mained on his back by the Doctor’s orders, I carried him up his 
tea on a baby tray, to which concessions of tea-components were 
made by the parent tray; the more readily as the fog, which was 
nearly as bad as yesterday, made visitors very improbable. 

If he had not been ordered to remain still by a Doctor, he would 
never have tried to move. Indeed, he had only done so once or 
twice in order to upset the diagnosis, and in doing so had suf- 
fered great pain. But it made him feel happier, and he was now 
deriving great satisfaction from pretending he could move if he 
was allowed, and ascribing interested motives to the third person 
plural, who was scheming, he said, to keep him on the flat list. 

“If they was to let me get up and walk about a bit, Nipper,” 
said he, “I should soon be right enough. But they always was 
at that game, and always will be. Makin’ a job! Just like ’em! 
•'Tea? That’s good. Nothin’ like a Nipper, after all! Oh yes, I 
can sit up, Joey dear, right enough.” 

But he couldn’t, without me to raise him. And what a dif- 
ficult job it is to manipulate nineteen stone, that can’t help itself ! 

“ P’r’aps little Clementina will toast me a big bit of thick toast 
herself, soft inside. This stuff ain’t toast at all, not as I look at 

it, I should consider it match-boxes ” So I went down again, 

and the drawing-room fire being superb, the toasting-fork was rung 

m 


336 


JOSEPH VANCE 


for. ** Give it me, Mast — ” said Pheener, and I fixed her with my 
eye. Give it me, Joseph,” said she, correcting herself, and I 
handed her the fork. 

It is very curious,” said J aney, going hack to our former 
conversation. And as I stood waiting for the toast, she read 
again from Lossless letter: 

“I am making myself very uncomfortable about your father, 
and I have no idea why. There is nothing in your last letter 
to point to any disaster. I dare say it is only imagination. I 
hope so. But whenever I think of him it is always on precipices, 
and he is always going to put his foot down in the wrong place, 
and no one is there to stop him. If I commit myself thoroughly 
to being thought superstitious and morbid, perhaps it will be the 
best way to avert the omen. Papa used always to say that vaticina- 
tions after the fact were the only ones that came true. So I will 
get myself thoroughly involved, in the interest of yourself and 
your Daddy, and place my presentiment boldly on record, so that 
it may turn out false. It is just a fortnight since that I said to 
Hugh that I was sure something was going wrong, and that was 
the time I felt it most strongly. I shall be so glad, dear J oe, when 
I get your next letter, and find, as I hope I shall, no bad news. I 
can’t get your letter covering that date for more than a month. 
What nuisances time and space are ! ” 

“Then the letter goes on about the children,” said Janey. 
“ But isn’t it odd. Jack? ” 

“ I thought it was odd when we read it at breakfast. But, any- 
how, you see, it was a false presentiment, because the date of the 
letter is November the third, and Dad was quite well all through 
October. You know the Chinese proverb, ^ Cherish the false 
Prophet who predicts disaster, and the true one who foresees 
health.’ — Isn’t that toast done ? ” 

It was, and I carried it upstairs. 

“ There’s two beggars with a wan at the gate,” said my Father. 
I looked out. It was the salvaged goods I had told them to send 
on. “They’ll want a formal receipt for them, I expect. They’ll 
be credited to the Globe Insurance on the house, being Salvage — 
at least, I suppose so. What was there ? ” 

There were some pictures from the drawing-room, the writing 
table from the Snuggery, and so forth. I mentioned all I recol- 
lected. 

“I shouldn’t mind,” said my Father, with a sadder note in his 


JOSEPH VANCE 


337 

voice than I had so far heard, if them two picters of Stags be- 
fore Letters was put up here for me to look at. I shouldn’t feel 
so cut adrift from your Mother, dear Nipper.” I said they should 
come. 

And that’s a knee-hole table, and comes in four. Two sides, 
top, and pigeonholes to stand on. They might carry that up too. 
There’s papers in it.” I promised this also, and went to give 
directions. 

The pictures and the table were soon brought up. My Father 
seemed more interested about the pictures than the table, and lay 
looking at them. 

Never mind looking at the desk now. We’ll do him to-morrow. 
There’s no hurry for anything now, not till ’Ickman’s commooni- 
cated with the Insurance.” 

Hickman had called in the morning, but I was away at the new 
Works, and my Father was asleep. He slept a good deal. Hick- 
man had left word that he would call to-morrow afternoon. My 
Father lit his pipe. 

‘^Your Mother never saw those two,” said he. ‘‘What’s their 
names? Stags without Words, or something? Miss Dowdeswell 
had better dust the frames of them.” He called his wife Miss 
Dowdeswell, having never once called her so, until to oblige him 
she gave up being Miss Dow'deswell. She said he was that con- 
tradictious! As for the last new picture title, it was due to 
Jeannie having played some Mendelssohn, and his having asked 
the name of that toon. 

“ No — ^your Mother she was to have come down and seen ’em, 
and she never came. Never having seen ’em, I mix ’em up with 
her, natural like, and it’s less by way of being cut adrift. I can 
only see the reflection of the winder in that one. Give him a tilt. 
There ain’t much light to see anything by.” He smoked awhile 
peacefully, and then began, “I say, Nipper dear ” 

“What, Dad?” 

“Was I very drunk?” I felt it was a case for prequivocation, 
and that I was on dangerous ground. So I asked why? “But 
was I ? ” said he. 

“ That depends, Daddy dear, on what you call drunk. You 
might have had less. It doesn’t matter now. Let’s talk about 
the Stags.” 

“ Got anything partick’lar to say about the Stags ? ” 

“ Nothing very particular.” 

“ Then let’s talk about the drink. You see, that’s what it turnf 
on.” I asked what it was that turned on it. 


338 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Only — ^what do you call those games they have at Scientific 
Lectors — not conjuring, but red and green lines, and vertical and 

horizontal ? When you always get took in whether or no ? 

I got a clue and suggested Optical Delusions. “To be sure,” said 
he, and then after a pufi or two went on: 

“ Now the question is, was this here an Optical Delusion ? 
When they brought me across to whaPs-their-names — ^Placket 
Hole’s or something like it — on that portable hammock turn-out — 
I was thinking of nothing but getting the horses out of the stables 
before they was redooced to ashes.” 

“ Of course they were got out first thing,” I interjected. 

“ Of course. But when you’re in a stage of intoxication, you’re 
mostly muddled, whatever the stage may be. Anyhow, I wasn’t 
thinking of your Mother. And she says. to me quite sharp and 
sudden like ” 

“ Hullo,” said I, under my breath, for I thought he was delirious 
and began feeling his pulse. 

“Feel away, Nipper dear,” said he. “I’m just as normal as 
usual, and fairer than that I can’t say. When you’ve put your 
watch up, we’ll get along ! ” As he was, if anything, less normal 
than usual (admitting the expression), I put my watch up, and 
felt I cut a therapeutic figure. He continued: 

“ — quite sharp and sudden like, ‘Recollect Pheener’s 
packet ’ ” 

“ Do you mean you heard her, or only thought you heard her ? ” 

“ Well, dear boy, you see they’re so dam like if you only think 
hard enough. It was one or the other. But was it an Optical 
Delusion? Or was it doo to Alcohol? Or what? I heard it, 
anyhow — that clear that if it had crossed my mind that the In- 
surance would cover that like anything else, I should have spoke 
out plain to your Mother not to fret about it, and it would have 
been put down to the score of the Alcohol. Becaiise to speak fair, 
Nipper dear, your disgustin’ old Daddy had been, what with the 
cold and the taste of the fog, giving himself a sort of” — ^he 
hesitated a moment — “a sort of alcoholiday, in the manner of 
speaking.” 

“ Dear old Dad ! You’ll never be disgusting, not if you were as 
drunk as a Lord.” 

“But suppose I was as drunk as the House of Lords — ^hay, 
boy?” And my Father laughed and rolled about in his old manner. 
But I think it hurt him, for his breath caught, and he stopped 
short with, “ All right, J oey, it’s nothing ! ” 

“ But what was the packet ? ” I asked. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


339 


A bit of knick-knack little Clementina gave me to take care 
of for her. It was a trifle I gave her before she^ packed her boxes. 
And she gave it me back to take care of, of her own free will. 
And she ain’t to look at it now. So we’ll just say nothing about it. 
The man in the shop where I bought it called it a Tiarrhoea.” 

“ A what ? ” 

“A Tiarrhoea. Like before taking, shake the bottle. A wine- 
glassful after every ” 

But the entry of Miss Dowdeswell herself made it impossible to 
pursue the subject. 

Next day I went over to Dr. Thorpe’s early. I thought the 
chances were very large that, that Library Beggar (as my Father 
had called him) being immersed in his books, and only glancing 
very slightly at the paper, would know nothing about the fire until 
I went to tell him. I was quite right. 

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “What, Joe! All burned, house 
and all.” 

“ A few scraps saved from the house. Otherwise all converted 
into oxides, with evolution of caloric.” 

“But, Joe — Joe dear — don’t make chemical jokes! Tell me. 
How did it happen ? When did it begin? Was it any one’s fault? 
Will the Insurance cover it? ” 

“ Oh yes — fully covered by Insurance.” But why did I feel 
conscious that I was mechanically repeating the fireman’s words, 
not speaking from my own knowledge? 

“ Well ! That’s a good job, anyhow ! ” and the Doctor looked 
relieved. “And how is every one? How’s your Father?” 

“ That’s the worst of it. I’m afraid he’s had a bad shake in the 
back — a recrudescence of an old accident — a thing that happened 
ages ago. Just before you set me going in life. Doctor ! ” And I 
gave the Doctor the whole story of the fire, finishing with the pas- 
sage in Lossie’s letter, which I had brought to show him, and my 
Father’s fancy about my Mother’s voice. 

“ Two eerie incidents in one day ! ” said he. “ I always think 
these things should be put on record. But Loss was evidently at 
fault, because it has all come about later. I should of course like 
the other thing to be what it seemed. You know my ideas? ” 

I knew them and should have liked to talk about them. But we 
were interrupted by the appearance of Beppino. 

Perhaps if ever you read this — (and recollect! If you don’t 
read this you won’t be in existence. So look out for squalls) — ^you 
will notice that I scarcely describe any of my memories of people. 
This is because I am not a real author. If I were, I would tell all 


340 


JOSEPH VANCE 


about their exact shape, size, weight, colour, and manner before 
ever they said a single word in dialect, which of course they 
would do. I would finish up a description of a character (for 
instance) by saying that a pair of leather leggings the worse for 
wear, and shooting-boots down at heel that had been cut on the top 
to accommodate gouty swellings, completed the description of good 
old Isaac as I recollected him, and only at the end of my page or 
two of description allow him to say to his wife, Be you gwine to 
zimmer they ta’aties ? or “Kick ’em in t’ stummuck if they wean’t 
budge,” or something similar. But even if I were a real author I 
couldn’t describe Beppino at this time, for he was never the same 
six months together, and I used only to see him at about that in- 
terval. As I seem to have committed myself to an interpolation, 
I may as well indulge in it. 

Beppino’s variations were owing to his modelling his manner for 
the time being on that of the last meteor of Art or Literature he 
had been introduced to. For Beppino had a social status and was 
very much introduced. He was even spoken of familiarly as 
Messalina Thorpe, his poem about that reprobate being the most 
admired of the celebrated Trilogy. At the date of these memories 
he was founding himself on a great dramatist and a great sculptor, 
neither of whom had yet got tired of him. Now the great sculptor 
rejoiced in (or, at any rate, never docked) a magnificent crop of 
red hair, and usually wore a brown velveteen coat when out of the 
studio. Beppino was therefore spoiling the collar of an expensive 
piece of tailoring by as large a hair bustle as nature allowed on the 
nape of his neck. And the great dramatist (apparently) never 
said a brilliant thing without beginning with “ My dear fellow ” 
in a sort of drawl I can’t easily reproduce. But if you will say the 
three words, “Medea. Fill. Awe,” quite deliberately with full 
stops, you will not be far from Beppino’s reproduction. I never 
saw ***** myself, so I can’t say how far the original resem- 
bled it. A few months later the fashion changed, and the only 
way of spelling the next pronunciation quite exactly would be 
“ Deiphila.” Try them both, and see if they sound plausible. 

I believe his poems had clever passages in them, but really I 
never read them. A great poet of the time, whom he was said to 
imitate, expressed a guarded opinion about the Trilogy, namely 
that “ it held out promise of original work.” When pressed as to 
whether it contained any, he gave an evasive answer. Beppino 
thought he was jealous, but added that of course he should never 
eay so to any one but you, whoever you were. 

He was musical and sang old French songs and Italian siornelU 


JOSEPH VANCE 


341 


with real taste and feeling. He was very popular with young 
ladies of an artistic and non-sporting turn. The sporting ones 
said they couldn’t stand that sort of thing, without making it 
clear what sort. One, so the story went, knocked Master Beppino 
off the end of a rout-seat at a ball with the sweep of a powerful 
elbow, and said by way of apology, “ Well, Mr. Joseph Thorpe, I 
never asked you to sit in my pocket ! ” However, I have digressed 
enough, and Beppino must go on coming in at the Library door, 
where Dr. Thorpe and I are talking about what are now called 
Psychical Researches. 

thought it was you, Joe Vance.” He certainly pronounced 
me Juvence, quite distinctly. “All goin’ on well, in your part of 
the world ? I came to borrow Arcadia, Pater.” 

He had come from his room upstairs, the nursery of old times, 
where he employed himself on various literary work. He got 
enough to do, I believe. 

“What are you at now, Joey?” said the Doctor. “Writing 
Eescennine verses and Bowdlerizing them down to publication 
point, I suppose? You’ll find the book over the door.” And we 
waited in silence till he had come down the ladder with the book, 
for neither of us would have thought of taking a Poet into our 
confidence. When he landed, he blew the dust off the book-top 
and slapped it to, and then said, “He’s such an uncherrytable 
Pater mine is ! ” adding with a gush that was distasteful to me, 
“ But he’s a good Pater, and a dear Pater ! ” as if I was likely to 
dispute it. “ Only there’s one thing he does not understand, and 
that’s Art.” 

“ I suppose I don’t, Joey,” murmured the Doctor, meekly. 
“ Shut the door when you go out.” 

Beppino replaced the ladder, and was outside when the Doctor 
resumed the conversation. 

“ Naturally any one like me, to whom the idea of extinction at 
death is absolutely indigestible, would wish or hope for the sur- 
vival of our affections on the other side. But no change is 
inconceivable to me, only cessation. Still it does seem the most 
obvious and probable thing that such an incident as this fire, even 
if we become over there insensible to matter as we are here to 
spirit, would be seen reflected in the minds of Spirits in the 
flesh by — shut the door, Joe, and either come in or out! ” 

The Poet came in, “Eh say,” said he. “Thet’s intrasting! 
Who’s been on fire ? ” 

“ The factory was burned down two days ago — both factories — • 
my Father’s works and mine.” 


342 


JOSEPH VANCE 


^•By Jove — thet’s serious — anybody killed?” 

Nobody but a dog.” Beppino’s face fell. ^‘But my Father 
had a nasty fall, and is laid up.” 

“By Jove — thePs bad!” He distinctly brightened. “Any 
chance of incendiarism ? ” he enquired, anxiously. 

“ None whatever, Joey,” said his Father. “ Nothing the least 
tragic or poetical. Just a big bonfire and nothing else. Nobody’s 
even ruined, as insurance covers everything.” 

“ Pater’s always hard on me,” said he. And I am confident that 
he utilized the genuine dejection he felt at the prosaic nature of 
the disaster as a means of expressing sympathy. “But I say — 
you know — it’s no laughing matter.” We admitted that it was 
not, and he then revived his drooping spirits by admiring the Fire 
Brigade. “By Jove, they’re fine!” he exclaimed. “It’s grand! 
It’s grand ! I’d have given something to be there to see it.” 

“ We didn’t enjoy it particularly. I’m sorry you weren’t there.” 

“ By Jove! Ha — ^ha! that’s not bad! But you’re always seveah 
on me, Juvence — ^you really are ! ” 

“ I say, Joe,” said the Doctor, “ I’ll walk over with you when 
we’ve had some lunch, and see your Father. I don’t like the ac- 
count of him.” It was Beppino’s misfortune to rub inartistic 
people the wrong way^ and he had done so in this instance. We 
were not sorry to hear that if he did not run at once he would 
be late to lunch somewhere else, so we lauded punctuality and 
gave him a cordial send-off. We had only Aunt Izzy for company. 

Before we started for Chelsea it transpired that our communica- 
tions to Aunt Izzy about the Fire had failed to reach her under- 
standing. She had conceived them to relate to the library fire. 
Getting it out had become letting it out, and the blow-up of the 
gas been referred to the bellows. 

These errors were discovered and set right when she remarked 
that she didn’t think it “ ought to surprise ” anybody ; and this was 
traced back to “ London Water Supplies.” As soon as she realized 
the conflagration, she became so anxious that the new Apopempso- 
pyrotechnicon Fire-Extinguisher should be used to extinguish it 
that she ignored the fact that it was out already. I promised to 
have one at hand next time, and said I hoped I should soon have an 
opportunity of testing its merits. Aunt Izzy got quite cheerful over 
this prospect, and augured great success. She was a good-hearted 
old lady, but wanted to have her finger in every pie. I don’t thi nk 
I’ve remembered the apparatus right, but it doesn’t matter. 

The Doctor and I walked over to Chelsea talking of the subject 
Beppino had interrupted. The fog had lifted and a thaw was 


JOSEPH VANCE 


343 


setting in. The wind was thinking of coming from the southwest, 
and a little came as we crossed Clapham Conunon. When a sudden 
mild fit of this sort comes in midwinter, people are ungrateful and 
call it unseasonable, and pretend they like frost. They are liars 
and hypocrites, as they enjoy it thoroughly. We did, on this walk, 
but we paid our tribute to orthodox views nevertheless. 


CHAPTEK XXXVn 


A CONFERENCE AND A GROWING ALARM. HOW THE WHISKEY-BOTTLB 
HAD CAUSE TO CHUCKLE. THE CHEQUE-BOOKS DID IT, OF COURSE — 
WANTED THIRTY-THOUSAND POUNDS. ALSO HOW A BANK SMASHED — 
AND HOW A BIG BAD DEBTOR OWED A BIG BAD DEBT. CHRISTOPHER 
YANCE & CO. INSOLVENT. 

We arrived, Dr. Thorpe and I, almost at the same moment as 
Hickman in a Hansom, from the other direction. He was evi- 
dently appreciating the change, but he too paid his tribute to 
public opinion and said it was unhealthy and relaxing and so 
forth. Missis was out, and Mrs. Christopher was out, but Mr. 
Vance could get at the bell quite easy. The connection of ideas 
was quite clear to me. I hope no one will ever be puzzled by it. 

We all went straight up to my Father^s room; I only going in 
first cautiously to make sure he was awake. He was. ‘‘Who 
have you got outside ? he asked. “ Is that Tckman ? ” 

“It^s Hickman,” I said. “And it^s the Doctor come to have a 
look at you. Not that sort of Doctor, Dad! It^s Dr. Thorpe.” 

A look of apprehension vanished, and his face lighted up with 
pleasure. “ There^s Doctors and Doctors,” said he as he stretched 
out a hand of welcome- “You^re my sort! None of your dam 
prescriptions! Come in, Tckman. You all right? See you 
directly ! ” The Doctor said don’t let him interrupt business and 
was told Hickman would do any time. 

“ This is a bad job, Vance,” said he, sitting down. 

“ What you might call a pretty how-do-you-do ” said my Father. 
“ But Lord, this ain’t nothing ! Soon shove this to rights.” This 
seemed to assign less force to a favourite phrase of his than I had 
always ascribed to it. Dr. Thorpe laughed, and said he was glad 
it wasn’t an ugly how-do-you-do. 

“ I wouldn’t go so far, for one,” said my Father. “ Suppose we 
say an unpleasant circumstance, and let it go at that ? ” This was 
carried nem. con. “ If it wasn’t for this here sprained ankle I’ve 
got in my back, we should be all clear for a start. It’s what they 
call a cash-you-ality — nowise worse than that! It might have 
been a smashuality, hay. Doctor ? ” 

344 


JOSEPH VANCE 


345 


" That’s the right way to look at it, Vance, anyhow.” 

Let’s ring the bell for tea,” said my Father. Tea and a pipe I 
That’s my soothin’ mixture.” He reached for the bell-puU, but 
the sprained ankle was too predominant in his back, and he was 
glad to leave the bell-pulling to Dr. Thorpe, who volunteered. 

“ I suppose,” said the latter, “ you’ll soon have all your, men at 
work again, and rebuilding started.” 

That’s just the advantageous p’int,” said my Father. “ You 
ask any Architect (that is an Architect, and not an armatoor) 
which is the best, a built buildin’ or a rebuilt buildin’, and he’ll 
speak up for the last. Because he’ll know he’s been detected and 
convicted of a thousand blunders in the first building that he could 
have just as well as not kept off of, and the parties won’t stand ’em 
a second time. Excepting he has a ’igh feeling of professional 
dignity, and can’t be lectured.” 

And what do you do with him then, Vance? ” 

** Then you chucks him, or dispenses with his services. If by 
letter, the latter. But of course that’s ’Ickman’s department. He 
walks into ’em ’ansum, and remains their obedient servant per pro. 
Don’t you, ’Ickman ? ” 

“ Certainly, Sir. And no doubt the new buildings will be a 
great improvement. There’s nothing like experience. But the 
first thing will be to ” 

But Hickman was interrupted by the arrival of the tea, and 
also of Janey and my stepmother. 

Oh, we’re not fretting, Dr. Thorpe,” said my wife, in response 
to enquiry and expression of sympathy. The whole thing is 
covered by Insurance, and it’s merely a question of time. Jack 
was saying he knew of no reason why they shouldn’t start next 
week.” 

I glanced at Hickman. “ Oh yes, of course,” said he, no 
reason whatever! At least none that I know of.” 

Was there a note of hesitation? I decided that there was none. 
It was only that I was fanciful. After all, my nerves had been 
very much shaken in these three last days. Janey went on talking 
to Dr. Thorpe. 

“ Now, wasn’t that odd. Doctor, that presentiment your daugh- 
ter in India had? Of course it was a long time before. But 
then they all say that time doesn’t count.” 

Who say ? ” 

*‘Well — the proper people. I don’t exactly know who they 
are.” 

^‘No more do I. Shall I pass your cup for some more tea, 


346 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Vance?” My Father had drunk his straight off, contrary to 
precedent, and said decidedly, “ No, thank you — not another cup.” 
The two ladies looked surprised, and Pheener said, Now, think 
of that.” 

What was Tclanan saying just now ? ” he continued. Yes — 

just now — saying to the Nipper?” 

‘^Hickman said nothing to me, dear Dad, except that he knew 
of no reason why the rebuilding shouldn’t begin next week.” 

No more there ain’t any reason. There’s some ’umbuggin’ 
forms to be what they call complied with at the Insurance Offices — • 
but that’s nothin’. We can begin to-morrow. As for the Offices, 
blest if I know what the forms are! You show ’em the receipts, 
’Ickman — they’ll square the rest.” 

I understood,” said Hickman, visibly uncomfortable, that the 
receipts were with you, Mr. Vance. If so, they are no doubt 
burned.” 

And pumpin’ on ’em now,” rejoined my Father, would only 
be wastin’ good water. Nobody wants ’em! If the cash had been 
sent ’em in coppers, they could put their ’ands in their pockets and 
say they never had ’em. But a cheque’s a cheque, and there you 
are I ” 

“ Oh, certainly. Sir,” said Hickman. “ Your recollection of 
writing the cheques would be quite enough in practice. Only 
when one malces a formal claim one likes to have the documents.” 

Dr. Thorpe, whose voice sounded cheerful and reassuring on the 
top of a sense of misgiving that had crept in, remarked on the 
admirable service the crossed cheque rendered to business men. 
‘^In this case, you see,” said he, payment of cheque makes the 
whole thing secure without more formality. I’m sure we needn’t 
feel uneasy,” addressing my wife, who was looking blank and ap- 
prehensive. 

But the semi-tension, that had come into the conversation, no 
one could say exactly when or how, had got to reassurance point. 
It was like pretending a toothache isn’t coming. It showed in 
my Father’s raised voice when he next spoke. 

“ All I know is,” said he, “ that I wrote the cheque for all three 
Offices, and if they haven’t sent the receipts it’s their lookout!” 
He said it quite easily and confidently. Besides, if they didn’t 
receive ’em, how could they cash ’em? You look in the Pass-book 
— in the pigeonhole of that table. We’ve got to overhaul that 
table, Nipper.” 

The Pass-book was got out and searched. No such cheques 
were entered. My Father gave a short low whistle, but did not 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


347 


lose his head. ‘‘You look again,” said he. “You^ll find ^em! 
All the cheques are in order in the second dror’ on the right. I 
put ’em to their numbers myself and none was missin’. You ’unt 
in my pocket for the keys.” 

Hickman, whose voice showed his alarm plainly, began speaking. 
“You shut up a minute, ’Ickman,” said my Father. “Let’s have 
them keys.” And the keys were found, and the presented cheques, 
all in order — ^but no Insurance cheques! 

The suspense was trying. “What v’us Mr. Hickman going to 
say just now?” asked Hr. Thorpe. 

“ I was saying. Sir,” said Hickman, who may have been a little 
hurt at being shut up, “‘that probably Mr. Vance would remember 
there was a delay in payment. The last day of grace had passed — 
that was October the fourteenth — and two of the offices wrote to 
ask if you wished to discontinue, and a gentleman called from the 
Globe to see if it was an oversight. And when I told you, you 
said you would send at once.” 

“ Then it’s all a fuss about nothin’,” said my Father. “ I wrote 
the cheques in the big cheque-book at the Orfice. You wrote ’em 
and I signed ’em.” 

“No, Sir, no,” said Hickman, who had become quite tremulous. 
“ If you remember that book had been written full up for you to 
sign, and it was too late then for you to get another. It was six 
o’clock. And your cheque-book you carry was just used up tool 
We noticed the coincidence. I wanted you to make the drafts on 
office paper and not wait for a cheque-book, but you said you 
would be sure to recollect.” 

“Stop a bit,” said my Father. “I remember something about 
that.” Hickman had a gleam of hope. He went on speaking. 

“You’ll remember too, Sir, remarking that you had two new 
cheque-books in the desk at home and you’d post them off that 
evening. I knew the money would be accepted really any time 
as long as the place wasn’t burned — and I asked you and you 
said you had sent it — and of course I thought you had the re- 
ceipts.” 

I had seen Pheener’s hand catching convulsively on the arm of 
the chair she sat in. As Hiclonan finished she gave a cry. 

“ Oh, Master, Master I It was that book the bottle was spilt 
on! ” 

“ Perhaps,” I struck in — a light breaking on me, “ you spilt ink 
over the cheques, and meant to write them again and forgot it. 
You say. Had, you remember actually writing the cheques?” 

“Ac-tu-ally writin’ of ’em, Nipper dear! And putting of ’em 


348 


JOSEPH VANCE 


in envelopes, and lickin’ of ’em to, and putting on the di-rectiona. 
IQuite like ’Ickman. I can’t say I remember forgetting to post 
’em, but then some one else may have forgotten. Only Miss 
Oowdeswell didn’t say I spilt the ink. Speak up, little Clementina, 
and say what it was I spilt ! ” 

Oh, Master ! You know it was the Whiskey. And you said 
what a good job it was there was so little left in the bottle! And 
then you finished what little was left. But I do remember the 
cheques were all written by then, and safe in the envelopes. I 
don’t know where you put them — went away to bed.” 

“ You see, Nipper dear,” said he, turning to me with a ridiculous 
mixed expression of contrition and candour, ^‘you see what it 
was? It was my intemperate ’abits. Your Daddy was in a state 
of beastly intoxication. Entirely doo to his ’abits I I’d wrote the 
cheques though ! ” 

‘‘Come, Vance,” said Dr. Thorpe, “you can’t have been so 
very bad, or you couldn’t have written them.” 

“ If I’d only drunk a little more the bottle wouldn’t have slopped 
over and spoiled that cheque-book. I remember it now. Fifty to 
order and three wrote. Three and eleven pence. What’s Mrs. 
Nipper grubbed out of the desk ’ole ? ” 

“WTiat on earth are these?” cried Janey at this moment. She 
had been fishing about in the pigeonholes of the desk-table. 
“ Three letters and all directed to Fire Insurance O^ces I ” And 
turned as white as a sheet. 

It was too true! And the explanation, so far as the unposted 
letters went, was easy. My Father had put them in a safe place, 
so as to be sure not to forget them. Which of us has not done this, 
even in our lowest stages of intoxication? But I almost wished 
the letters had perished in the fire — it would have taken so 
much blame ofP my Father’s shoulders. It would not have 
mattered if we had never known how the non-payment escaped 
detection. 

What had exactly happened was this. My Father, as he was 
consuming rather more than his allowance of whiskey after dinner, 
on the day of the occurrence described by Hickman, had got out 
the two new cheque-books mentioned and baptized one of them 
(so he said) with three premiums payable to the three offices. 
Having done so, he unfortunately baptized it still further by spill- 
ing the whiskey-bottle over it. Now whiskey on certain paper 
produces a fine purple stain, and my Father noticed the splendour 
of the tint; and inferring that any one who got a cheque so 
ptained would ascribe Bacchus to the drawer, had put this cheque* 


JOSEPH VANCE 


349 


book aside to reclaim the price of the stamps if ever he should 
withdraw his account. We found it in a drawer of the table. 
Having done this he inaugurated his other cheque-book, which was 
intact, and by the time he had his pass-book again had forgotten 
all about it. He satisfied himself that all his cheques had been 
presented by putting them in order, without examining the pass- 
book. “ Whereas the good,” he said afterwards, “ when the entries 
are all eligiblef” And he showed me an illegible entry in proof. 
It was (as near as I recollect) Dry — £40. 0. 0 ” and was supposed 
to commemorate a payment of forty pounds to Rebekah and John 
Zimmerman, Dry-salters! With respect to the other point, the 
way the non-appearance_ of the receipts was acquiesced in, it was 
clear that the Works had imputed them to the Office, and vice 
versa. Hickman had supposed my Father had got them. And he, 
not receiving them, naturally inferred they had been sent to 
Jobchurch Lane, which was his usual designation of the town 
offices. 

To complete this part of the story now. Some attempt was 
made to get a concession from the Fire Offices on the ground that 
the written cheques were actually an instruction to Vance & Co.’s 
bankers to pay the premiums, and that the position was virtually 
the same as if the cheques had been posted and had not reached. 
In such a case I believe most offices would have treated the pay- 
ment as effected. But the legal advisers in our case pointed out 
that there was nothing but my Father’s word to show that these 
cheques were not written after the fire broke out! If such a 
precedent were created, said they, it would invalidate the whole 
principle of Insurance, of which the essence is that the Policy- 
holder shall risk the loss of his premium; which Vance & Co. had 
certainly not done while the cheques remained in their possession. 
Even then I believe one or two of the Directors were in favour of 
sending my Father the cash (a mere trifle of £30,000 or so) ; partly 
because of the glory of such action to the Offices, and partly be- 
cause Vance & Co. was alleged to have been drunk — chiefly the 
latter. 

Some one thing (I have said this before somewhere) always 
starts out clear in one’s memory, and throws its kin into the back- 
ground. This time it is Dr. Thorpe’s eyes, as I part from him 
at the gate — full of sympathy, and so like Lossie’s. “ It’s not the 
money^ Doctor,” I say to him. That’s bad — but it’s not that.” 
And he replies, ‘^7 know, dear Joe! I see. But keep a good heart, 
and leave it in God’s hands.” And he walks away into the thaw, 
by this time in full swing. 


350 


JOSEPH VANCE 


And then I go up to the drawing-room and find Janey. And 1 
am in time for her to cry upon, just as the relief of tears comes. 
And she says, ‘^Oh! Jack, Jack — your poor old Daddy! And 
he is so sorry. It makes one cry to see him.” And she has a good 
cry, and is the better for it. And then as she comes back to dry 
land out of a sea of tears, she says, “ But wasn’t it strange, Jack? ” 
I ask what, and she says what Lossie Desprez wrote in her letter, 
and that it must have been just when the cheque-muddle came off. 
And I say coincidence, and all the proper things, and we go up- 
stairs together to get and give consolation. And then Bony comes 
in and has to be overwhelmed in his turn. 

It need not be supposed that an annulled Insurance, or rather a 
neglected one, was the cause of the Insolvency of Christopher 
Vance & Co. It was a contributary cause doubtless, and if it had 
not existed, very likely Vance & Co. would have tided over the other 
difficulties that came upon them. For misfortunes never come 
singly, and scarcely was the reconstruction of the burnt Work- 
shops put in hand than another calamity followed. The draft on 
the Surburban and Metropolitan J oint-Stock Bank, which provided 
the first weekly screw of the workmen on the job, was the last 
cheque cashed across the counter of the Clapham and West Brixton 
Branch of that great and prosperous concern. Next day’s morn- 
ing papers announced its suspension, and in a few weeks any one 
who was of a sanguine disposition was at liberty to believe that its 
assets exceeded Golconda, while, on the other hand, incredulity 
itself was silent when its liabilities were quoted at very little less. 
One of the causes of failure was ascribed by the Co. to its in- 
ability to withstand the temptation to make advances, though it 
could not exonerate the other parties. Like Browning’s young 
man, whom the young lady never should have looked at so, had she 
meant he should not love her, the Bank complained that the 
numerous Firms to which it had lent money, »r allowed to over- 
draw, never should have misled them by depositing such seeming 
valuable securities, which turned out worthless. Among the 
overdrawers, C. Vance & Co. was a conspicuous instance, figuring 
for a good round sum among the Debtors. But, to do my Father 
justice, his Firm had never made eyes at the Bank, or any Bank. 
It was merely that no one ever dreamed of questioning his 
Solvency. But now the luck had turned, and myriads of persons, 
it seemed, had said so all along. 

Even if the Bank had been able, by a great effort of imagination, 
to realize its assets, Vance & Co. would have been none the better. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


351 


as at least the account would have had to be balanced, before new 
overdraws could be indulged in. But the worst was to come. My 
Father had undertaken, as a sub-contract from an eminent firm 
of Eailway Contractors, the construction of a great Hotel at a 
Terminus. It was to be paid for when completed, at the opening 
of the Railway. But everything, as my Father said, went con- 
trairy. The building-site proved to be a spongy morass, which 
had indurated itself spitefully at all the points which were tested, 
and which had to be turned into a huge block of concrete before a 
footing could be laid. This cost within ten thousand pounds of 
the contract sum. Nevertheless, the whole thing was completed in 
spite of difficulties, and payment was due, when crash went the 
great Contractors! 

There is no better investment now, in this last year but four of 
the century, than shares in that Railway, if you can get them! 
Many a prosperous family has been reared and educated on them, 
many a luxurious country-house built. Quotation of them at a 
premium has become a mechanical habit with Brokers, who mostly 
believe that if they fell the sky would. But the men who fought 
with unexpected torrents in the tunnels, with malignant hillsides 
that waited for passing trains and then developed as landslips, 
with huge seas that came in the night and swept away Cyclopean 
walls as Betsy Austin sweeps away the crumbs — these men died in 
poverty or small prosperity, or lived, some of them, to furnish 
illustrations of the advantages of marriage settlements, and of 
their own wicked improvidence, from the consequences of which 
the greater foresight of everybody else had saved them. For those 
who fail get scant quarter from those who never try, and those 
who see no farther than the stock-market know of no success out- 
side the Balance-Sheet. 

My Father got a good deal of public absolution. For, though 
the Bankrupt did not ascribe any of his failure to that whiskey- 
bottle that I saw chuckling in triumph over the ruin of his home, 
yet it leaked out, through the men, that Christopher had undenia- 
bly been concerned, on the day of the fire, in liquor, and that he 
was liable at other times to be concerned in other liquor. And 
nobody could deny that he was a jolly good fellow. So, even as the 
rank and file of an army that has been led to slaughter by a tipsy 
General forgives him with its dying breath, so the workman whose 
employment was gone spoke leniently of my poor old Dad; and 
forgiveness got into the atmosphere, and excuse-making was the 
rule and censure the exception. But his blame of himself and his 
weight of sadness were pitiful to see, as be lay helpless on his 


352 


JOSEPH VANCE 


back, the Tictim a second time of the same injury, and a second 
time being forcibly weaned from his old bad habit. 

That was my consolation, and, though none of us ever by any 
chance spoke about it, our consolation. Each knew what the 
others thought. 

I go on to a time — it was well on in the late summer — when all 
the business matters were wound up, not unsatisfactorily on the 
whole. In winding up a concern of this sort, the final settlement 
turns on the common interest of the creditors, and in this case 
there was no doubt about the interest common to all, namely the 
success of Vance & Macallister, who figured as debtors to Christo- 
pher Vance & Co. But the terms of their building contract had 
been cash payment on completion. Bony and I were therefore 
able to demand completion, and the Firm, now represented by its 
Creditors and an Official Beceiver, carried out the building as per 
contract. Easy terms of payment were granted, the good-will of 
the business being accepted as a sufficient security; and a friendly 
mortgage of the buildings started us on our way, and though some- 
what handicapped we could fairly look forward to prosperity. I 
feel this is all prolix, but when no one reads, an author may be as 
prolix as he Ekes. 


CHAPTER XXXVm 


joe’s father does not improve much, but he is his old self 

STILL, AND ENJOYS A SURPRISE HE HAS TREASURED FOR HIS FAMILY. 
HOW HE HAD BOUGHT A TRINKET IN BOND STREET. THE NEW 
LIMITED CO. IT STARTS ILL; BUT GOOD FORTUNE BRINGS BACK AN 
OLD BOARD TO HELP THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS. 

My memory, then, travels on satisfied to late in ah evening in 
August, 1870, when I was sitting with my Father in the drawing- 
room at Chelsea, looking out at the moonlight on the river. For 
great ingenuities had provided ways to move and carry him with- 
out pain. “ Progress,” said his enemy, the Medical Man, “ was 
slow but sure.” “ Then why don’t he get out o’ the way,” said the 
patient, “ and let me get ahead a little quicker ? ” An eminent 
surgeon had examined him, but said there was nothing for it but 
patience. No, Mr. Vance,” said he to me as we parted at the 
street door. can’t take a fee for telling a man to lie on his 
back. You take an interest in bullets, of course? I’m just going 
to take one out of a man. Too old-fashioned a one for you to 
care about. It’s been thirty years in his carcase ! ” And ran away 
to avoid my thanks. 

“How long was I getting round, that time, Joey?” said my 
Father to me on this evening. “ That time after poor Peter Gunn 
got the glass in his eye.” 

You mustn’t suppose these words brought that event back to me 
then nearly as clearly as it does to you now. You have, I presume, 
recently read it. I remember it vividly now, fifty years after! 
It was rather hazy after twenty. 

“I think Mother said two months,” said I. “All I recollect is 
that day you came out in front and we talked to the little man with 
the board.” 

“Just such another day as this has been! More by token it was 
the Nipper’s birthday! What’s to-day, Joe?” 

“Nineteenth. I say, Janey, yesterday was my birthday and we 
forgot it!” Janey was writing a letter within calling distance. 
“Many happy returns,” said she, “but to-day’s the eighteenth.” 

353 


354 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Well, then,” said I, “ it’s to-day ! ” And Janey came in and gave 
me a kiss, for confirmation, and went back to her writing. 

“ I remember,” said I. You gave me a top to play Peg-in-the- 
King with Porky.” 

“ And your Mother a pair o’ storkins,” said he. Your feet are 
larger now than they was in them days, Joey.” 

Who did you say you played Peg-in-the-King with ? ” inter- 
mitted Janey from afar, without stopping writing. 

“Porky Owls,” answered I. And Janey said “What a name! ” 
and soaked back into her letter. 

“ Well, Joey,” said my Father, resuming. “ It was two months, 
anyhow — maybe a bit more! And how long have we been goin’ 
on over this job? ’Tain’t a twelvemonth yet, if we speak the truth.” 
He had evidently begun his comparisons of the two nursings 
hoping for better results, but was not going to acknowledge defeat. 
It was discouraging to think how long he had been on his back. 

“Can’t be helped, Nipper, can it?” He effaced the unpleasant 
view of the case, and took a more cheerful one. “ One good thing, 
at any rate — it’s out of the question gratifyin’ one’s unfortunate 
propensities. Or if it ain’t out of the question it’s out of the 
answer, when one’s domestic circle grabs the bottles and bolts.” 

“ Never mind. Had ! It’s my birthday to-day, so you shall have 
extra toddy.” And I promised to compound a nightcap secundum 
artem — feeling rather as if I was compounding a felony. I felt 
guilty and apologized to Mrs. Christopher, who appeared at this 
moment. “It’s your lookout, M’ Joseph,” said she. “ I w^ash my 
hands.” Her difficulties in addressing me often ended as if I 
were a Basuto. “ Comes of her having been a young gal,” was 
my Dad’s explanation. It is intelligible to me — perhaps to you 
also? 

Bony and Jeannie often looked in late, and did so now. They 
had been out dissipating, and Jeannie looked like a Titian portrait 
of a grand duchess. Janey arranged her beautifully for us to 
look at, with the full moon over the river behind her. She was a 
glorious spectacle sitting there in the clash of the moonlight and 
lamplight. “ Not bad ! ” said her husband, in the tone of a satis- 
fied proprietor of a travelling circus. We settled down to a 
general chat over things, telling Jeannie she might move now if 
she liked. And Janey said we might talk business, if we wanted 
to, and of course we immediately did so. 

“ Well, Bony,” said I. “ It’s really all done now ! ” 

“ Are you sure ? ” said he. “ It’s been really all done at least 
three times in the last three months ! ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


355 


‘‘Anyhow, I can see the Bankrupt’s certificate sticking out of 
his pocket,” said I. And my Father, perceiving that this was the 
case, buttoned it in. It had been a great satisfaction to him to 
read it at intervals, and it seemed not improbable that he would 
always retain it in his pocket. He had been greatly pleased to 
know that he had made a full discovery of his estate and effects. 
I think he felt like Christopher Columbus, or Cortez. 

“ Now are you quite sure you haven’t concealed property to the 
amount of ten pounds ? ” I asked. 

“ Quite sure,” he answered. “ The property I concealed was a 
considerably bigger amount than ten pounds. Besides, it wasn’t 
my property, it was Miss Dowdeswell’s.” 

We all stared at him and each other. He continued. 

“ They never asked me if I had concealed any one else’s 
property.” 

“ What are you driving at. Daddy dear ? ” 

“ You get Miss Dowdeswell to show you that fancy article I 
gave her afore ever she suggested Matrimony. You tell truth and 
shame the Devil, Mrs. V. Cut upstairs and fetch it down. I 
should like to see some of you gals try it on.” 

It dawned upon me that he was referring to the parcel he had 
given liis wife when I brought it from the burning house. It had 
slipped my memory in all the confusion and anxiety, and it was 
now eight months ago. I made a remark to this effect, and he 
said, “ Yes — it was that parcel I had the Optical Delusion about.” 
His wife returned with it, and handed it to him. 

“ Now, Mrs. Christopher Vance, as I said before, you tell truth 
and shame the Devil. How did you come by this here parcel ? ” 

“ You gave it me, dear, at the fire — in Slack’s front parlour.” 

“ And how did I come by it ? ” 

His wife reflected, and said, “Why — I suppose — I gave it to 
you to take care of, after you gave it to me the first time.” 

“ Of your own free will ? ” 

“ Yes. Because you said, ‘ You do as I tell you, little Clem- 
entina, and give me back that parcel of your own free will, for 
me to take care of for you.’ So I gave it you of my own free 
will.” 

“ Good girl ! If you’d given it me under compulsion it would 
have spiled the performance.” 

While this conversation W'as going on, my Father undid the 
parcel. All our eyes were fixed on it. Out of cotton-wool came 
an inner parcel of pinlt tissue paper, and out of that a casket of 
red morocco leather. 


356 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“ That’s all right ! ” said he. Suppose now we put it away to 
be safe.” But a chorus of indignant exclamation followed. “ IPs 
your property, Mrs. Christopher,” said Bony. “ You take it from 
him.” And she did so. And opened it. 

As I sit here writing this, much disturbed because Upstairs is 
moving out to-day, and a sort of beery persons who come out of 
the rain and smell damp and stuffy are hoarsely percolating through 
the house, engaged in the removal of Upstairs’ furniture, and a 
wardrobe (which gives the impression of being also a wardbugs) 
is giving a practical illustration of the maxim that wot’s been got 
in can be got out, and she’ll come if you keep her round easy. 
You don’t, it seems, for she comes with a smash against my door. 
But she is got out, with one of her four feet off, and she dies 
away into a van in a drizzle, and her foot is carried down after and 
stuffed inside her. 

What were the memories this accursed and useless article of 
furniture interrupted? A memory of a flood of reflected light 
from a jewel-cluster in the satin lining of a leather box, a minia- 
ture constellation of a thousand reflected moons and a thousand 
reflected lamps. A memory of the cry of joy of the voices I knew 
so well, so many years ago. A cry of sheer joy at the splendour. 
A memory of my Father rolling about with laughter at the great 
surprise, till he hurt himself, and had to stop. 

I shall pick up the thread of my narrative now, provided always 
that Upstairs subsides. I think I hear those beery ones in the 
street spreading, if not their sheeny van for flight, at any rate 
their sheeny tarpaulins over it. ... Yes! And the carman has 
said wup to awaken the horse from his reverie, and they are 
off! 

“Stick it on your head. Miss Dowdeswell,” said my Father. 
“You won’t know yourself, you’ll look such a beauty.” 

“There now,” said Jeannie, “that’s just the way you men talk 
about your wives.” 

“Nobody else has any wives, or they might tallc about ’em 
sim’lar,” said he. “ You give her a lift, Mrs. Nipper. She ain’t 
a dab!” 

And after Mrs. Christopher had tried it on, Mrs. Nipper did. 
But these were really only civilities, the public anxiety to see it on 
Mrs. Macallister being ill-concealed. The result, when it came, 
was stupendous, and the wearer kept it on, with a not unmixed 
j)hilanthropy. ■ 


JOSEPH VANCE 


357 


" They can^t be real, of course/^ said Janey. 

Of course not ” said my Father, placidly. Just a lot o’ bits 
of stinkin’ glass.” But this statement immediately aroused 
suspicion. 

‘‘Then some of them are — really real!” said Janey. Solely be- 
cause of the statement that none of them were so! “Why, they 
may be worth hundreds! What’s that big one in the middle 
worth ? ” 

“ Couldn’t say. But they’re worth more than ten pounds, all 
told. So the Lord Chancellor can keep his hair on.” 

“They must be worth a good deal, Mr. V.,” said his wife. 
“ Wouldn’t it be better to sell ’em and have the money? It would 
be something, anyhow — and we could pay our fair share of the 
bills then, perhaps.’^ 

“ How much should you take it they might be worth ? ” asked my 
Father with the air of one who could be persuaded to part with it 
if a twenty-pound purchaser could be found. 

We guessed that amount, some of us, and our guess was dis- 
allowed. W^e guessed double with the same result. We knocked 
off a third, and then my Father said we were getting colder. Then 
we doubled again. Same result. Then again. And so on till the 
guess was two thousand five hundred and odd! Then in order to 
put an end to the possibility of another rebuff, I exclaimed, “ Come 
now, Daddy ! I’ll do it this time. Ten thousand pounds ! ” 

“Very likely you’re right, Nipper,” said my Father, meekly. 
“ Like enough they’re only worth that. Always been bein’ takin in, 
all my life, I have! But I gave fifteen thousand. You needn’t 
look so scared. I haven’t cheated the Lord Chancellor out of two- 
pence.” 

I suppose we continued looking uneasy, for he went on in a 
more serious tone of voice. 

“ They didn’t belong to me — they belonged to Miss Dowdeswell. 
She hadn’t so much as mentioned matrimony at that time, much 
less committed of it. You see this was just how it happened. I 
was passing by a Jeweller’s shop, in Bond Street, and I saw some 
pretty things in the window, priced various at so much — two hun- 
dred this, two hundred that — and I went to look at ’em. And on 
my remarkin’ they went to a pretty penny for Shop-window goods, 
the shopman says they don’t count them expensive, and he shows 
me two or three that ran to more. This was one. They was askin’ 
fifteen thousand eight ’underd. And I told ’em I’d fifteen thou- 
sand in my pocket and if they were agreeable we’d deal at that. 
So I brought it away and put it in my shavin’ drawer.” 


358 


JOSEPH VANCE 


But how on earth,” said I, “ did you come to have fifteen thou- 
sand in your pocket ? ” 

“It was a cheque Margosian & Mavropoulos had just paid me 
for that new block of offices we rebuilt in the City — all the cash 
in a lump. And I was in funds at the time, and it seemed a good 
investment. I asked ^em not to put hen hen upon it. So it was as 
good as a Bank of England note. I wrote across the back in the 
shop and they wrote a receipt. There it is, tumbled out of the 
parcel ! Let’s have hold of it ! ” I passed it to him, and he lit a 
pipe with it. 

“ Well, now, Pheener,” said Janey, “ you’re quite a rich woman 
— isn’t it nice ? ” 

“ It isn’t mine ! That’s only Mr. V.’s nonsense. Of course it’s 
just as much his as ever.” 

“Don’t you go sayin’ that in the bearin’ of the Lord Chancel- 
lor,” said my Father. “ He’ll ree-scind the certificate, and make 
use of it to square off that odd four shillins in the pound. Besides 
sendin’ me to prison for concealing valuable assets. It ’ll bring 
you in a nice little penny, and you’ll be able to afford your 
elderly encumbrance a trifle of barker. Dear — dear! What a 
many times I’ve said to myself that we need never go to the 

work’us as long as we’d got the Tiarrhoea Well! You may 

laugh as much as you like — but that’s what the shopman called 
it — a Tiarrhoea ! ” 

I remember all the above scene, with perfect clearness. Then 
follows a hazy period in which I recollect facts, without images 
or visible incident to confirm them. The fact, for instance, that 
most of the creditors of C. Vance & Co. became shareholders ’in C. 
Vance & Co. Ltd., Managing Director, Mr. William Hickman. 
Also that my Father bought shares therein in his wife’s name with 
a good deal, I forget how much, of the eighteen thousand poun Is 
for which he sold the tiara to the Duchess of Playbridge, whot^e 
second husband (I can’t remember his name) negotiated the sale 
and accepted a commission of ten per cent, and lost it all next 
day on the turf. 

It is extraordinary how much one does forget! I can recollect 
nothing particular of the Limited Co.’s beginnings (although I 
must have known all about them at the time) until more than a 
year after the sale of the tiara. Hickman came to see my Father, 
and was “glad to say matters were looking much better.” His 
recent visits had been penitential as to his own mishaps and cen- 
sorious of other people’s. As I was seeing him downstairs I 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


359 


remember his saying to me, “Oh, by-the-bye, Mr. Joseph, I for- 
got to tell Mr. Vance that! You remember Shaw, our old gate- 
office man? He called last week for a chance, and of course I 
put him on. That was a very good place Mr. Vance got him, but 
he fell out with them because they sacked a man for being drunk 
in his overtime — the overtime having been unexpected. It was 
rather a shame! Well! Shaw came off the job, on principle, and 
came back to us. And he brought me round, to show me, a relic 
he saved out of the old fire! You^ll recollect the board that stood 
inside the Gate-office? With your Father’s name on it, and 
Drains Attended To? Shaw said he wouldn’t part with it on any 
terms, and I had to go to two pounds ten to get him to give it up. 
But I’ve got it now in the Office in Abchurch Lane, and it’s a good 
d«al thought of.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


joe’s father slips downhill, peter GUNN CROPS UP. AND AT LAST 
OLD VANCE KNOWS THE STORY OP THE BOTTLE-END. HE REACHES 
THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL, AND GOES ELSEWHERE. BUT THE BOARD 
IS STRONG AND PHEENER IS DESERVEDLY RICH, AND ALL IS WELL. 
SO JOE HAS TIME FOR REMINISCENCE, AND REMEMBERS HOW HE MET 
PORKY OWLS AGAIN, AND DIDN’t KNOW HIM. 

Hy Father cannot be said to have ever really rallied. The oc- 
casion I described in the previous chapter is one of the last I can 
call to mind when he seemed quite like his dear old contradictious 
self. So said his wife. He had light fluctuations, as when for 
instance his Doctor announced that complication with Kidneys 
was to be feared. “ As if,” said he indignantly, I was a beef- 
steak puddin’ ! ” 

But whether it was liver or kidne5’^s or heart or lungs, or that 
refuge of destitute Diagnosis, a complication, was never deter- 
mined. All that was quite clear was that the injury to the spine 
had come to stay. Diagnosis would have it that something else 
was responsible, but never made up its mind to say exactly what. 
Treatment seemed to have only one instinct — namely, to head him 
ofl from any nourishment he felt a special wish for. As the effect 
of interdicting anything whatever was to make him refuse food 
till he got it, the only chance of diet was for every one else to adopt 
it as well as the patient. Unfortunately, he soon saw through 
this, and refused tea unless it had, in addition to its own natural 
sugar, all the sugar there ought to have been in that beastly plain 
pudd’n at lunch. The moment he found out that we were living 
on triumphs of insipidity with an eye to his welfare, he revolted, 
and underwent agonies of starvation until we surrendered at dis- 
cretion. “ What’s under this here cover now ? ” he would say. “ Is 
it nutritious diet? Because if so, you may give it to the cat. If 
it’s food which would be fatal in my case, you may take the cover 
off.” And off came the cover accordingly. As for how many 
lumps o’ sugar in the toddy, how many has the Doctor strictly 
limited ’em to? One? Is that all? We’ll go two better than that 
and strictly limit ’em to three, and then if that don’t satisfy him, 

360 


JOSEPH VANCE 


361 


nothing But examples of skilful perversion of this sort 

became fewer and farther between, until at last, the Doctor hav- 
ing admitted that nothing was to be gained by fidgeting him 
about diet, it ceased to be a bone of contention. And as vdry few 
or no other bones presented themselves, there ensued a calm, of 
which we all knew the meaning, and we felt that the end was in 
sight. 

It may have been some months before his death that he said 
that about the three lumps of sugar. I was concocting his toddy 
at about midnight, the beginning of the only time when he was 
at all wakeful — for even in this he was contradictious, sleeping all 
day and getting restive between twelve and one in the morning. 
I had given in, and allowed the three lumps, and was just going 
to leave the tumbler in his hands, when it slipped and was broken 
on the floor. Don’t cut your fingers pickin’ of it up, Nipper,” 
said he. The mishap was soon remedied, and he lay back sipping 
the second concoction. 

‘‘ I wonder,” said he, what’s become of poor Peter Gunn.” I 
should have thought this had come into his mind out of the blue, 
only that Peter had come into mine too. It was the broken 
glass. 

“ Ah — I wonder ! ” said I. And I wonder what’s become of 
Porky Owls and Gummy Harbuttle.” 

“ I don’t wonder about them. Because they was young, and 
likely to go on by nature. But poor Peter was gettin’ on, and he 
might be either a Corpse or a Ghost, accordin’ as you look at it.” 
I really had never credited my Daddy with thinking on this sub- 
ject, and this speech of his presented very strongly to me his 
singular faculty for boiling down a subject and wrapping it up. 
I am borrowing his own expression, used once long ago over a 
specification. 

“ Of course,” I replied. “ Peter may have been dead years ago.” 

Which should you suppose Peter was now — a Corpse or a 
Ghost ? ” I inclined to the latter, with reservations. 

Which would you soonest be, Nipper?” 

“ What’s your own idea. Dad '? ” 

'' A Ghost, of course ! Think how you could go about 
frightenin’ timid females. I’d sooner be one or t’other, square 
and fair, than a Ghost in a Corpse, which is my feelins at present. 
If I was a Ghost, at any rate I could go and frighten Peter Gunn, 
if still livin’. I’d like to be even with him. But p’r’aps it would 
be ’eapin’ up, as the poor beggar lost his eye.” 

I recollected that my Father had never known what boy threw 


362 JOSEPH VANCE 

the bottle-end. It would please him to know now. ^ I say. 
Daddy,” said I. 

What, Nipper? ” 

“ Guess who threw that glass at Peter Gunn.” 

That Police-Orficer — ^his> name was Parrish or Purvis, or 
Ricketts — some such a name — said it was two young customers 
with no boots out of Trapp’s Rents — a little this way of the Canal 
Bridge. Said he saw them aim the glass and hook it.” 

He saw them hook it, but he didn’t see them aim the glass. 1 
saw them hook it. Let me fill you up the pipe.” 

He puffed at his pipe, looking dreamily at the “Stags without 
Words” (the name had caught on), which had been hung handily 
for him to see. I thought he was forgetting about Gunn. But he 
wasn’t, he was only guessing. Presently he said: 

“ Your Mother she made out it was match-factory or soap-bilin’ 
boys from Garrett Green way. But fancy the Nipper seeing ’em 
— poor little Nipper his bad old Dad ran off and left! Why, Joey 
koy? you wasn’t up to my hand 1 ” 

“ I was big enough to throw a bottle-end, and I did it. And I 
hit Mr. Gunn, and you should have heard him howl. And then I 
was afraid to tell of it, till I forgot all about it.” 

Anything like the dumb amazement of my Father I have never 
seen. It made him gasp and feel for words without finding them. 
At last he got at his voice. “ My Nipper,” said he, “ my Nipper— 
the little Nipper! ” And for some minutes he found nothing else 
to say. 

“Yes,” I said, “I hit him, and I wasn’t sorry. Only I was 
afraid he’d crack me like the insect, so I never told anybody — not 
even Mother ! ” 

“Not even Mother! Oh, Joey boy, I shall die even with poor 
Peter Gunn — and your Mother never knew it! Oh, Joey, Joey! ” 
And the tears ran down his face, as he repeated again and again. 
“Oh, Joey, Joey! Your dear Mother!” It was entirely on her 
behalf that he felt it so keenly. After a while he said, speaking 
as one reverting to his own view of the case. “ It don’t so much 
matter on my account, in the manner of speaking. I’m very sorry 
for poor Peter. All the same if one could be awenged on one’s 
enemies without occasioning of ’em personal inconwenience, it 
would be a satisfaction ! But when it comes to eyes ! ” And 
then he said again, “ Poor Peter,” and presently fell asleep. 

It was not the last time we spoke of Peter, for he more than 
once made me tell him all I could recollect of the story over again. 
He had completely forgotten a number of things that seemed to 


JOSEPH VANCE 


363 


me vital to the histoiy. For instance, about the insect in the 
quart-pot! To me it seemed, and still seems, the pivot on which 
the whole thing centred. All the babies round us now are taking 
like impressions of little things we do not notice, and will keep 
them to their dying day. 

He slept a good deal, rousing himself a little when we borrowed 
Jeannie’s children to brighten him up a bit. Happily or un- 
liappily, as the case may be (for I have thought both ways, and 
cannot pronounce), there was no progeny whatever in our es- 
tablishment. He himself used to regard Jeannie in the light of 
Mudie’s. When youVe none of your own, send to the Circulatin’ 
Libery,” was his way of putting it. They were beautiful chil- 
dren, and the little girls used to play at weddings and christenings 
all in one, but prided themselves on knowing that the christenings 
always came after the weddings. Their families’ busts came off 
and their insides came out and got all over everything, and their 
eyes glared hideously into space, and they afforded no satisfaction 
to a public hungry for kisses, and their mammas complained of 
being preferred unduly. But they were a happiness to my dear 
old Dad as he slid gently down the hill, and if I could see those 
mothers and thank them I should be glad. They are, to the best 
of my belief, real parents of real children now, and the girls, I 
conjecture, will soon be old enough for Grandmamma to make 
matches for. Jeannie, I believe, is very beautiful still, and I 
have no doubt as keen as formerly at her favourite pastime. 

Well, then, my dear old Dad went slowly, slowly down the hilL 
His wife, variously Pheener, Clementina, Miss Dowdeswell or Mrs. 
V., was a good woman if ever there was one! You know it is no 
easy matter to nurse a contradictious patient who cannot raise 
himself to sit up, far less walk. But she held on to the last, and 
then when the end came quite gave in and became almost frantic 
with grief. Oh, Master Joseph, Master Joseph,” she cried, quite 
forgetting all but the past, Missis would saj I did my best. Pm 
sure she would. But I might have had him a little longer. It 
need not have been quite the end.” 

But it was, or at least as much the end as it ever is. The long 
diminuendo had died down to silence, or to a pause followed by a 
new movement that we who were left in the silence could not 
hear. 

******** 

The firm of Christopher Vance & Co. Ltd. exists no longer under 
that name, but I am told that at the Ofiices of the great Company 
of which it formed the chief constituent, there is still treasured 


864 


JOSEPH VANCE 


the board which once was the property of the mysterious and 
vanished C. Dance. Original shares in this Company have 
doubled in value, and my stepmother, who is living still with a 
second husband in Worcestershire, is a rich woman and influen- 
tial. She married, I believe, an old sweetheart, and has several 
sons and daughters all growing up now. What a deal of room 
there is for incidents in a quarter of a century ! It was four years 
(apparently) before Pheener would listen to this old sweetheart, 
and she has had over twenty years of extremely family life since. 
She asked me to be a trustee of her marriage settlement. But I 
selfishly (no doubt) refused, it being a case in which I could not 
be bullied into consenting. For I had had a warning on the sub- 
ject of Trusteeships, which I shall have to refer to later in this 
narrative. 

After my Father’s death all went on as usual. Vance & 
Macallister throve, and fully justified the faith placed in them by 
the official assignees of C. Vance & Co. How the disappearance 
of the payment of fifteen thousand pounds, which ought by rights 
to have come in somewhere in Vance & Co.’s books, was accounted 
for, we never knew. But there was no doubt the concern at that 
time was solvent without it, and my Father had a perfect right to 
convert it into pocket-money and buy trinkets for any lady he 
chose to spend it on. I believe it was an unnecessary precaution 
to make a present of it to Miss Dowdeswell before he was engaged 
to her, but it showed the degree of his mistrust of law and lawyers. 
Anyhow, his creditors never raised any question about it, and 
accepted sixteen shillings in the pound gratefully. Bony and I 
discharged the principal and interest of our debt for the building 
rather sooner than was expected, and all went well with us. 

Now that I have got thus far in my story I will wait a little 
and think of something pleasant. I wiU light this pipe and smoke 
jt in my armchair before the fire, and nobody shall worry me. 

■ I think I shall be unmolested. Unless, indeed, a German gentle- 
maii I sometimes play chess with has forgiven me for what he 
says wras the drig I played him. Most players will remember 
Zukertort^’-s problem which puzzled everybody, and turned on 
Black’s last >^ove having been pawn two squares,, and White hav- 
ing the choic^ of taking across, which was the key-move of the 
problem. Of ^ 30 urse White didn’t realize this, and was very angry 
when he had t o give it up ! My German was so indignant that he 
has never bee;^ near me since. He said it was the merest jezdrigo 
I don^t think he will forgive me, 

/ 


JOSEPH VANCE 


365 


What shall I think about that is only pleasant, and that I can 
bear to think about? Shall I try the wooden carriage-gate at 
Poplar Villa with five square horizontal bars and one cross-piece, 
and some vertical thin irons through the three lowest bars, to 
discourage the passing street dog? It does not hurt me to recall 
it as it swung to, after my Daddy and I passed through, coming 
away from that first visit to Poplar Villa. But my mind goes 
back a little more, and Lossie is running down the front-door 
steps with a huge piece of cake in her hand for the Boy. No ! I 
will not think of that; it must be something else. I must get 
quite, quite away — it ought to be so easy for me to do so! I 
have seen so many places and so many men since those days. I 
will pick something at random out of my South American time — 
that row in the streets at Lima which began at a gambling-house 
down the road, overnight, with savage recrimination in all lan- 
guages, and rose and fell, and rose and fell, all through the tropical 
night, and woke me from my first sleep as it burst out and filled 
the street with stabbings and revolver shots. And then a descent 
in force of the police, and my going out and penetrating the crowd 
because I heard so unmistakable an English voice in altercation 
with the officers. Its owner was explaining that he really had not 
been concerned in what he quite properly called the bloody row 
himself, being merely one of the crew of an English ship that 
had put in at Callao for repairs after bad weather, and who had 
walked over to see as much Peru as he could, while his leave 
lasted. I was able to get him out of his mess, and took him to the 
house I was lodging in, and patched him up, for he was not un- 
scratched. And when I came to talk to him it appeared that his 
name was Howells, and that when a boy he lived near London — 
down in the sou Vest, nigh to Wimbledon. And will you believe 
it, it was all so long ago, and life had told so upon each of us, 
that neither remembered the other? For it was not till after he 
departed that I suddenly recollected that Stallwood’s Cottages were 
nigh to Wimbledon, though that was not how I located them 
mentally, and that Porky. Owls’s real name was Eobert Howells. 
And then I was as sure, when it was too late, that this grizzled 
seaman of fifty was Porky, as I was of myself having been that 
small boy who caught newts with him in ponds, and carried them 
home in pickle-bottles. Of course I was sorry we parted un- 
revealed, but one can’t always have the dramatic and interesting — 
pne has to accept the actual. As an American poet sings, Oh. 
darn those things that go and be, without consulting you and 
me!” I should have liked to have chatted over old times. I 


366 JOSEPH VANCE . 

might have convinced him of the existence of equilateral triangles 
— who knows? 

But what does my perverse memory run back to now, at his 
suggestion ? Not the ponds and the newts — not the renown at peg- 
top he was named from — not his contempt of Number and Magni- 
tude. What comes back to me unbidden is the front room at 
Chelsea, looking over the river. And it is my birthday — and 
Janey comes from the back room to kiss me — my wife of all those 
years ago! And what brings this back is her having asked from 
the back room, two minutes after, for a confirmation of Porky’s 
impossible name. 

Perhaps if I think of the earthquake at Lima the next night, 
and the mad terror of man and beast, all but the fire-flies, who 
seemed quite unconcerned — ^perhaps if I think of these I shall be 
safe from things that come out of the past laden with useless 
pain. I will try. 

Perhaps, however, I will first see who my landlady (a most 
disagreeable person) is treating with contumely on the stairs. I 
will go out and listen over the banisters. I suspect it is Herr 
Pfleiderer, my German chess-friend. It is, and it seems he will 
vorgiff me that drig, and blay a game, if I will admit that it was 
a drig, and was not a broplem — in fact, was not jez at all. I am 
not sorry he has come, and admit everything. And then we have 
a two hours’ game ending in a draw — I avail myself of a perpetual 
check, or neither of us might get to bed to-night. 


CHAPTER XL 


I THIS CHAPTER IS REALLY ALL DEVOTED TO DR. THORPE^S OPINIONS, AL» 
THOUGH IT PRETENDS NOT AT THE BEGINNING. BETTER SKIP THEM. 
A QUOTATION FROM TENNYSON. JANEY AND JOE MAKE EACH A 
PROMISE TO THE OTHER. 

After my Fathers death the world went on as usual. The 
rapid construction of infernal machines of various kinds pro- 
gressed at the Factory, and pointed to a happy time in the future 
I when, all the able-bodied males of all races having become 
' Casualties, the blessings of peace will accrue to their fellow crea- 
tures, until a couple of them are discharged cured and ready to 
begin again. Mrs. MacallisteFs next baby came — or stop! Was 
it her next baby, or the next after that? I really cannot be posi- 
tive at this length of time. Janey used to borrow a young and 
juicy one, I know, and gloat over it for hours together. She, poor 
girl, did not approve of being out of it in this way, and thought 
Jeannie very greedy for wanting to keep so many to herself. She 
would gladly have appropriated this one outright. Perhaps it was 
well, as it turned out, that she never did so. 

There is nothing in all this story of any importance that I did 
not tell to Janey, one time or another, in very nearly the words I 
have used here. Even that wretched week at Oxford, after Dr. 
Thorpe went back home and left me to wrestle with my own con- 
fusion — even that I told her, without reserve. I should have felt 
dishonest to keep anything back; and told it all, the best I could. 
I put my soul in Janey’s keeping, with all faults and errors of 
description, like fish sold by auction at Billingsgate. You could 
never understand it as she did, even if you existed, which you 
don’t. Still less, I conceive, than she does if she exists now — 
which is at least as likely as that you ever will, maybe more so ! I 
can remember, one time at Chelsea, how I looked up from writing 
a letter, and saw at the other side of the table Janey with distinct 
tears in her hazel eyes, and her chin resting on both hands, look- 
ing at me. 

“What’s the matter, ducky darling?” said I, “you’re getting 

367 


368 


JOSEPH VANCE 


low, and want cheering up. LePs go and see Terriss at the 
Gaiety; he’ll make us laugh! ” 

‘^I’m not low! I’m very cheerful. I was only thinking about 
you, you poor darling silly old Jacky, all by yourseK in those 
rooms at Oxford, crying your eyes out about Lossie Desprez! 
Wouldn’t it be nice now, do be honest and confess, to wake up and 
find it was all a dream? All, all, all! — up to now, I mean.” 

“ That’s too stiff a question to answer off-hand.” 

“Oh no! Just think — fancy waking up in the morning and 
writing it all to Lossie! (By-the-bye, you haven’t forgotten to 
post your letter to her, I hope, and mine to the de Pembertons to 
say we can’t come on Monday? Thafs all right!) Well, Jacky 
dear, what would you have said ? ” 

“ I should have said there was a young lady in the dream that 
I loved such a lot of veries that I wished myself asleep again.” 

“ Just like you did Hedwig? ” 

“ Why, no ! Hedwig was a dear girl, no doubt, and very pretty, 
but she was the age of my daughters — ^the dowdies that they were ! 
Do you know, Jilly darling, I never felt quite sure that girl didn’t 
cosset up to my girls because she was tall and they were short, and 
she could sing and they could only grunt, like pigs! But they’re 
all squashed now, and it doesn’t matter.” 

“I wonder whether there’s a Schloss anywhere that means to 
come down and squash all in this dream — and which of us is going 
to do the waking.” 

“I hope you will! No! darling. I won’t be so beastly selfish, 
I hope I shall.” 

“Are you quite sure you’re really there?” asked Janey, with 
very grave eyes and mouth. “Are you?” said I, and then both 
agreed we felt pretty certain. 

“ Well, then,” said she, “ perhaps when the Schloss comes down 
we shall both wake together.” 

“ Bother that Schloss ! ” I exclaimed. “ I declare I will not be 
overhung by any such abominable infliction. I’ll thank that 
Schloss to dry up.” 

“But it would be rather fun to wake together and talk it over. 
Wouldn’t it now. Jack?” 

“ Well — it certainly would ! ” 

“ I should so like to know what Dr. Thorpe thinks about such 
things.” 

“ What things ? ” 

“ Bogy things — I shall ask him and make him talk about them 
kext Sunday.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


369 


Eor whatever else changed there was one thing that remained 
unchanged, and that was an alternate Sunday-evening visit to 
Poplar Villa. It had got inaugurated when we were first engaged, 
only it did not occur half-a-dozen times in our first engagement. 
When we got broken off I resumed my every Sunday, very often 
going to lunch and stopping all day. Since we got broken on 
lagain, as Janey called it, we had alternated a Sunday visit there 
with a Hampstead one. We used to go to her family on Saturday 
evening, and stay till Monday. 

This particular next Sunday came, and we hansomed over after 
tea through an alternation of deluge and sun-blaze, on what would 
have been a glorious April day if it had been the Saturday follow- 
ing, which was April Fool’s Day. I remember this because I 
remember Janey hoaxing me on the way up to Hampstead on that 
day. She asked me quite seriously, if I was sure I had the ticket 
in my pocket, and my hand went to my pocket before I re- 
membered that the ticket was not yet taken! It had been settled 
that we should go to Italy for a holiday, by sea if possible, and I 
was to enquire about the tickets on the Monday following, in 
Cockspur Street. 

Only Professor Absalom, Dr. Thorpe’s old friend, was at Poplar 
Villa, except ourselves. The Macallisters had been asked, but had 
declined privately, in conference with me, unless it was guaranteed 
.that Beppino would not be in evidence. As I knew he would, if 
he heard that Jeannie was coming, I could not press them to 
accept the Doctor’s invitation. 

In the course of the evening, as we all sat in the Library, Janey, 
determined to entamer the conversation towards the discussion of 
what she called Bogy things, referred to a story (I believe it is a 
very well-known one) of the recovery of some lost leases, which 
were found as indicated by a clairvoyant in the organ-loft of 
Exeter Cathedral, having been left there by their owner during a 
short stay when he ofiiciated as temporary organist. It is a very 
good story of the sort, and Dr. Thorpe remarked that he classed 
it among those testimonies which are either impudent lies or con- 
clusive proofs. Proofs of what ? ” said Professor Absalom. J 
In this case,” said the Doctor, proof that a man’s intelligenc<j/^ 
can go outside his radius. Or else that he can leave his body be^“ 
hind him and carry his intelligence with him. I am speaking,’^ 
continued he, laughing, “ with a painful sense that I do not ur^" 
derstand my own words.” / 

A general protest followed against any one keeping silence 
that account. ‘^Man is endowed with the faculty of speech,” n®* 


JOSEPH VANCE 


s'ro 

marked Professor Absalom, in case any one else should be able 
to understand him. No reasonable Creator would require that he 
should be intelligible to himself. If he did he would soon be jj 
disillusioned. I beg your pardon for interrupting you. Miss. 
Thorpe — ^you were just going to say? ” For Aunt Izzy had en- 

deavoured to make an observation. 

“ I was only saying. Professor, that it surely was very wrong of { 
him to leave all those poor girls in the organ-loft by themselves. 
Of course, if there was any older or responsible person there it ; 
would not matter so much. But just fancy, all night in an organ- !| 
loft!’’ 

The Doctor looked at me for a clue, and I looked at Janey. We : 
all shook our heads, as baffled solvers of an enigma. ‘‘We must | 
get at it gradually,” said he. “ Try and elucidate it, Mrs. Joe. 
She hears your voice pretty well.” And Janey shouted into the j 
ear-trumpet, “ What poor girls. Miss Thorpe ? ” ! 

“ Well — my dear — those girls you said ! That man’s nieces that | 
he left in the organ-loft.” 

We were all well trained, and nobody laughed. Janey shouted 
the correction " leases, not nieces,'* and Aunt Izzy said, “ Of | 
course it’s not, but you didn’t speak plain. I heard you perfectly i 
this time. Only, why did he have the Police up into the organ- ; 
loft ? ” I pulled out a pocket pencil and wrote leases, plainly, on 
my shirt-cuff and showed it to her. But Aunt Izzy was navree ! 
and thought she would go to bed, although it was early^ and said ! 
good-night and did what she thought. The poor old lady would i 
not accept compulsory silence, and it made conversation difficult. 

“ Now, Doctor, fire away,” said J aney. “ You said you would, 
you know.” Which was untrue, but that didn’t matter. 

“ What about ? ” 

“ About souls in bodies, and general Bogyism ; you know what I 
mean, and I want to know what you think. No, Doctor, I’m not 
in joke — I really should like to get you to talk about it — if you 
don’t dislike ” 

“ I don’t the least mind talking about Death and what follows — 
which I take it is what you mean? My difficulty is to find any- 
thing to say, worth saying, that hasn’t been said before.” 

He tapped on his snuffbox as if there might be something worth 
laying inside, and held it out to Professor Absalom standing on 
the hearthrug. The Professor took a pinch and sat down on the 
armchair opposite to enjoy it slowly and sneeze in peace. I filled 
a pipe and settled down on the rug with my head in Janey’s lap. 

“You know, Joe,” said the Doctor, “I really think your dear 


JOSEPH VANCE 


371 


Father touched the root of the matter when he said that about a 
corpse and a ghost — ^you remember?’^ I nodded, and lighted my 
pipe. “Well! I’m always speculating about why I always take 
Life after Death for granted, while so many people start with 
extinction, and throw the onus prohandi of a hereafter on the 
Immortalist. I always catch myself seeking for a proof of ex- 
tinction, and finding none. I used to think once that it was only 
resentment against the attitude of those who see a proof of cessa- 
tion of existence in the disappearance of the means by which they 
have detected it in others. I mean the existence of other Egos 
than their own. For I never have seen, and never shall see, that 
the cessation of the evidence of existence is necessarily evidence 
of the cessation of existence. I’m very wordy, but it’s difficult! — 
Well! In those days I was satisfied that no man ever spoke of 
his Self — sounds vulgar, doesn’t it, Mrs. Joe 

“Very. Do go on. Doctor! Spoke of his Self?” 

“ And meant only his Carcase — I used to think of it this way, 
and thought others ought to think as I did. — Well! I’ve changed 
my mind.” 

“ Oh, Doctor ! You never mean to say you have ceased to be- 
lieve in a soul ? ” 

“Devil a bit, dear Mrs. Joe! I believe in it (in my own, at 
any rate) more than ever. I only mean that in these latter days 
I refer my strong conviction on the subject to a physical fact more 
than to a logical sequence.” 

“Do you discredit your earlier logic?” asked Professor Ab- 
salom. 

“Not a bit of it ! It was all very well as far as it went, but no 
man ever was convinced by logic of anything so strongly as I am 
convinced that I am (to borrow your dear Daddy’s expression, 
Joe) a ghost in a corpse. No — Joe dear — ^not even that equilateral 
triangles are also equiangular.” 

Perhaps the chair on the other side of the table had reminded 
him. The hair of the corpse was greyer now, and the lines on its 
face deeper. But the ghost was the same ghost, or very nearly. 
The small unpuzzled boy that had sat on his knee was almost a 
new corpse and a new ghost since then. The Doctor continued 
seeing into my mind. 

“Don’t look sad over it old Joe! All these are things we 
should find an immense satisfaction in, if we could only see far 
enough. It’s our confounded short sight.” 

“ You’re losing the thread of your discourse, Thorpe,” said Pro- 
fessor Absalom. “ Why are you so convinced ? ” 


372 


JOSEPH VANCE 




I am convinced by constant observation that it is not true 
that all people feel more or less as I did; but that there are two 
distinct classes of people in the world; those that feel that they 
themselves are in a body; and those that feel that they themselves 
are a body, with something working it. I feel like the contents of 1 
a bottle, and am very curious to know what will happen when the \ 
bottle is uncorked. Perhaps I shall be mousseux — who knows? j 
Now I know that many people feel like a strong moving engine, 
self -stoking, and often so anxious to keep the fire going that they ■ 
put too much fuel on, and it has to be raked out and have the bars 
cleared. Which do you feel like, Mrs. Joe?” 

‘‘Do you know. Dr. Thorpe, I doubt if my mind is made up. ; 
Of course if I had known there were people who didn’t feel as I \ 
do, I should have examined myself at intervals to see if I didn’t 
really feel as they did. It would only be fair.” 

“Excuse me, Mrs. Joseph,” said Professor Absalom, “you 
haven’t answered the Doctor’s question. Which do you feel 
like?” 

“ Me ? Why, of course, like the contents of a bottle — only with 
an apprehension that when they draw the cork it will hurt me. 
How do you feel about that. Doctor?” 

“ Only that it doesn’t matter. The cork will come out, and the 
materials of the bottle go back into the melting-pot. It will come 
out quite suddenly with me. I shall die of angina pectoris. I 
have received medical advice on no account to fret myself on that 
account, as fretting will bring on an attack. And I mustn’t allow 
the apprehension that fretting will bring on an attack to cause me 
uneasiness. It’s like ‘je suis Cassandre, descendue dessus, pour 
vous faire comprendre, Mesdames et Messieurs, que je suis 
Cassandre,’ etc. I am to keep my thoughts off all depressing sub- 
jects, especially Death, which appears to be considered in Europe 
the most depressing subject there is. No doubt the Higher Al- 
truism would be equally fussy about death on account of the 
inconvenience to survivors. But when one has done a great deal 
of surviving oneself one feels one has a right to be selfish about 
that.” 

“ It seems to me,” said Professor Absalom, “ that we are wander- 
ing from one point to another, perhaps equally interesting to many, 
but not to me. I suppose it is because I am an Egotist or an 
Egoist (I forget which is right) that I care so Jittle about Al- 
truism, higher or lower. What I am listening for over here is 
Thorpe’s explanation of what he means by feeling like a ghost in 
a corpse. I always ascribe a sort of meaning to him; and in this- 


JOSEPH VANCE 373 

case, being quite unable to detect one, I am obliged to apply to 
him for enlightenment.’^ 

“ My dear Absalom, Euclid wanders from one point to an- 
I other. However, I’ll go back to the first proposition with pleasure, 
i By-the-bye, you never told us yourself which you feel like, the 
j contents of the bottle, or the bottle itself.” The Professor said 
neither one nor the other. What do you feel like then ? ” asked 
the Doctor. 

“ Very like me. I have always had a startling resemblance to 
myself, and I have no doubt should have been startled by it when 
it first occurred to me, only I was so young.” 

Couldn’t you ask your Self what it feels like ? Come, Pro- 
fessor, to oblige a young lady? Look at Janey’s serious face, 
waiting to know.” The Professor stopped to consider a minute, 
and then said, I agree with the poet : 

“ Body and Spirit are twins — God only knows which is which — 

The Soul squats down in the Flesh like a tinker drunk in a ditch,” 

The Doctor observed that he wished Beppino had written that. 
One of us remarked that it wasn’t really Tennyson, but an imita- 
tion. He said he would have been glad either way. Beppino’s 
present imitations,” he added, speak ill for themselves or their 
prototypes — I suspect the former. That one does honour to both. 
But the last line is on my side. Come, Professor! And now, Joe, 
there you sit with your mouth shut ! What do you feel like ? ” 
Yes, Jacky darling, what? Don’t pull my wedding ring off.” 
I’m not, I was only stroking over it. What do I feel like ? I 
think I still feel more like the engine with the fuel arrangement.” 

“ But why do you say still, Joe ? ” 

“Because I feel the feeling grow less. When I was a kid, it 
never occurred to me that I was anything but a unit, called Joe. 
As I grew older it was explained to me that I was a machine that 
converted fuel into Force, that the steam would run down, and 
that I shouldn’t be relighted again till the Day of Judgment, when 
it might be convenient that I should go to Hell to assuage the 
Wrath of God. That was Mr. Capstick. The other was Penny 
Lecturers my Mother took me to. You see it will really be years, 
even now, before I get quite rid of Capstick and the Penny 
Lecturers.” 

“I consider,” said Dr. Thorpe, “that most votes go my way. 
But this present quartet can hardly claim to be real people at all. 
If you were to poll all the men at all the Clubs, and all the women 
at all the Churches — what were you going to say. Professor ? ” 


374 


JOSEPH VANCE 


I was going to ask what the second proposition was to 
be — supposing we are ghosts in corpses, what do you follow on 
with ? ” 

“ It answers the enquiry — ^how far do I take Life after Death 
for granted ? which is what we started with. I take it that a great 
many people — most, perhaps — feel that they are Spirits in the 
Elesh, though the physical sensation (for that^s what it is) varies 
in intensity. I have it very strongly — conclusively, as I might 
say. So strongly that when I discuss the immortality question on 
regulation lines, I feel that I am a hypocrite; and am, out of 
deference to the correctitudes, concealing what is (as far as I am 
concerned) the principal datum. I am sure, too, that a large 
minority at least of the people that I have talked to on the subject 
have been strangers to the feeling.’^ 

Let’s report progress,” said Professor Absalom. “ Thorpe feels 
like a Ghost in a Corpse, and concludes that when the Corpse 
dies the Ghost won’t — is that right ? 

No. I don’t draw any conclusions. It may die for anything 
I know to the contrary. But I want proof of its extinction, and 
none is forthcoming. Of course. Professor, if you consider the 
withdrawal of the impressions on your senses, which have revealed 
to you the existence of another Ego than yourself, a proof that 
the revealed Ego has terminated, then the question whether we are 
immortal is answered as soon as it is asked. I’ve said a lot of that 
before.” 

‘‘I’m not cavilling. Doctor. I’m merely eliciting — ^give me 
another pinch. Don’t go on again till I’ve sneezed.” 

“I intend to sneeze, myself. As soon as I’ve sneezed — you- 
may-go-on-eliciting.” The sneeze all but caught the last five 
words, quick as they went to escape it. 

“Do you see your way, Thorpe, to any conclusions about the 
hereafter itself? Anything that throws a light on what and where 
the Ghost is when its Corpse is insolvent, and in liquidation, with 
all the Capital withdrawn ? Because that’s the Crux ! ” 

“ That’s the Crux, of course. But beyond the physical feeling 
I have spoken of — little but speculation. The tendency of it has 
been towards attaching weight to inferences to be drawn from 
what we know of the Spirit in the Elesh, the Ghost in the 
Corpse, rather than to those that follow from what are supposed 
to be communications from the other side. Some of these may be 
true, or may not. I have always felt on quicksands when I have 
been tempted (as I have once or twice) to go to Bogy Seances, as 
Janey calls them. The authentic story of one day is the hoax of 


JOSEPH VANCE 


375 


the next. But what we can see in the strange phenomenon other 
people is safe to go upon. Consider this case, if you can admit it. 
A man is born incapable of thought or imagination, of a single 
generous impulse or noble action. Don’t say no such thing can 
be — after all, it would only be an extreme case. Then suppose 
him to live a life of perfect satisfaction, supplied with everything 
his physical nature can enjoy. And then suppose that physical 
nature suddenly withdrawn, and the miserable Ghost, despoiled of 
its darling Corpse, left to make the best job it can of existence 
without any of the things that made up what it thought its 
happiness on this side. He would be no better off than a baby 
dead at birth, so far as any growth or development goes that could 
take place here. But whereas the baby would be open to take new 
impressions and enter on new growths, our friend would have 
grimed into him all the worst corruptions of earth, and would 
have forged a hundred chains to bind him down. I picture to 
myself some comfortless vacuity, some Cimmerian desert, in which 
the miserable stunted Ghost would drag on a life of yearning for 
his glorious debaucheries in his happy days on the planet Tellus. 
It is a mere fancy, suggested by contrasting such a case with its 
antipodes, which I take to be that of the man who, absorbed in a 
world of his own mind, is absolutely independent of externals. 
The highest regions of mathematical thought, for instance, often 
cause an almost complete oblivion of physical surroundings. 
Imagine, to illustrate this, the difference of the meaning of sol- 
itary confinement to Isaac Newton and Beau Brummell.” 

Accurate valuation of the Ghosts of these two' was difiicult, and 
was paused for so long that Dr. Thorpe had begun again before 
any one spoke. He had got wound up, and no one was going to 
stop him. 

“ I expressed just now my mistrust of what is called Spiritual- 
ism — (very absurdly, as it deprives us of a word the reverse of 
materialism. I want the word Spiritualist to describe myself, and 
can’t use it because of Mrs. Guppy and the Davenport Brothers). 
But I’m going to say a good word for even this sort of thing. I 
owe it a trifle for a message said to come from Voltaire’s Ghost. 
It was asked ‘ Are you not now convinced of another world ? ’ 
and rapped out ^ There is no other world — Death is only an 
incident in Life.’ He was a suggestive Ghost, at any rate. And 
among other things he suggests that the death of a man might be 
better described as the birth of a soul, and, inferentially, a parallel 
between the foresight into its life to come of the unborn child on 
the one hand and the unborn soul on the other. Who shall say 


376 


JOSEPH VANCE 


that the unborn child in its degree does not learn as much of this 
world as we succeed in learning of the next ? The physiologist is 
satisfied that the unborn child knows nothing and can receive no 
impressions, but then the Physiologist is satisfied also that he him- 
self is what your young friend, Joe — you remember? — called — 
what was it ? ” 

A wunner at knowing things ? said I. “ That was Porky 
Owls.” And Janey said did any one ever hear such a name? — as 
before. Dr. Thorpe continued: 

That^s it. He thinks he’s a wunner at knowing things, and I 
suspect for my part that he knows just as little of what he doesn’t 
know at all as he did before he was born. In fact, that the soul 
during gestation has only a pro-rata anticipation of what is before 
it. Of course the comparison suggests all sorts of parallels, some 
of them uncomfortable ones.” 

For instance, Thorpe ? ” 

‘‘ Well — for instance — what is the soul-parallel of the child that 
dies unborn ? ” 

“ The death of the Ghost in the Corpse,” we all spoke simultane- 
ously. 

Exactly. Do you find the notion comfortable ? I don’t. But 
I do derive a good deal of satisfaction from its opposite — the ma- 
turity of the Ghost in the Corpse. In fact, dear Mrs. Joe — and I 
know it’s what you were fishing for — it is the keynote of my 
Philosophy in this matter. The sacramental word is growth. If I 
am right, a long life to him is the best wish we can ofiFer any man. 
At any rate, he has the opportunity of growing up, though of 
course he may avail himself of equal opportunities of growing 
down or sideways — developing as a monstrosity, in fact ! ” 

But, Doctor,” said Janey, “ if you are right, what becomes of 
* Those the Gods love die young ’ ? ” 

Goes the way of all gammon, Mrs. Joe, if I’m right! If I’m 
wrong, then I go the way of all gammon-mongers. Pending set- 
tlement of that question, I busy myself keeping a close eye on the 
queerest of Phenomena, Somebody Else; and what I see tends to 
confirm rather than unsettle my ideas. Ever since I began to look 
at this Phenomenon from my new point of view, I fancy I have 
got more and more able to discriminate and classify him — ^he 
almost always presents himself to me now as a growing, decreas- 
ing, or stationary Ghost. The last class is the largest, and the 
first the smallest. Sometimes I am able to account for a nice 
child turning out a nasty man by supposing that his Ghost is still 
a baby, and has no control over his Corpse. Sometimes I am con- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


3V7 


fronted with ;?.n instance of an attractive old age following a 
detestable youth. I can only surmise that it is due to a maturing 
of the contents of the bottle.” 

‘^You are not always as mad as you seem, Thorpe,” said Pro- 
fessor Absalom; discern redeeming features in your present 
aberration. In fact, I should say that the idea of growth being 
the greatest good is the natural correlative of my old notion that 
frustration is the greatest evil.” 

Exactly. And I don’t stop short, mind you, in my identifica- 
tion of growth and good, in spite of apparent discouragement from 
the fact that Nightshade grows as well as Peaches. I would settle 
that all right if it wasn’t past midnight. But before the long and 
short hands are in a line, which ought to be twenty-seven and a 
half minutes to one, if the clock goes right ” 

“ Keep to the point, Thorpe ! ” 

“ Well — before then I shall have to disclaim any idea of 
settling the question of the Origin of Evil. That remains exactly 
what it was to me before, a question not needing discussion until 
the Balance Sheet of the Universe is audited. As soon as we 
know the total evil and the total good we may think this question, 
which seems to us now so important, a metaphysical curiosity. 
Eor the logical puzzle remains the same, even if we suppose our 
Universe to be only one among millions, and the only evil in the 
whole one isolated stomach-ache. The owner of the stomach 
will be just as unable to see why an All- wise and All-powerful God 
created his ache as we are why great fleas should have little fleas 
upon their backs to bite ’em, and little fleas have lesser fleas and so 
ad infinitum. He is the galled jade and winces, even as the 
human race winces under Leprosy and War and Medicine and 
Creeds and Stock- jobbing and the Daily Press. But these afflic- 
tions may not exist anywhere else in the Universe, or may be 
qualified down to endurance point.” 

“ I object, Thorpe,” struck in Professor Absalom, to your 
utilizing a conversation which is not without an element of 
interest, for the purpose of expressing sarcastic disapprovals of 
favourite bugbears. Allow me to remark that none of the evils 
you have so sweepingly grouped together is without able and 
thoughtful advocates. Perhaps I should except Leprosy, the ad- 
vantages of which (so far as I know) have never been pointed 
out. And as for Creeds, Ghosts in Corpses that live in glass- 
houses shouldn’t throw stones. What are you doing now but 
creed-mongering ? ” 

I deny it in toto, Absalom. I have been illustrating a physical 


S78 


JOSEPH VANCE 


fact, and recording some impressions it has given me for what 
they are worth. I have, as I have often told you, no creed at all 
except my belief that my Cause is greater than my Self. Unless 
indeed you consider a belief that it caused your three Selves, as 
well as mine, another creed. If so, I have two; but as I regard 
myself as on all fours with the balance of the Universe in respect 
of my Causation, I’ll allow the two — provided you acknowledge 
yourselves part of the Universe. Perhaps you don’t ? ” 

We looked at each other to see, but decided on accepting the 
position of effects of the Doctor’s Cause. 

“ I see no objection,” said the Professor, “ we are all much of a 
muchness, as results. But I foresee, Thorpe, that you will have to 
confess to a third creed directly, the Infinity of your Cause.” 

“It isn’t a creed! It’s the negation of a creed — a disbelief in 
his Finity. I don’t believe the Power that caused Everything Else 
is limited, although my amour propre is (at present) hardly suf- 
ficient to make me ascribe omnipotence to the Cause of Me, on the 
ground of that achievement only. My modesty permits me to 
imagine a Power capable of causing Me, but short of achieving 
Newton or Shakspere. It would be clever and capable, no doubt, 
but clearly limited.” 

“ It’s all no good, Thorpe ! You are creed-mongering, and may 
just as well confess it. What I want is to elicit your creed — not 
to quarrel over terms. What is the end of Life, and what is 
Death? What is the highest good, and who is the greatest man? 
Answer me those questions before the two clock-hands are in line, 
and then it will be an hour past bedtime. Put an end to this 
metaphysical dissipation, and give me another pinch of snuff.” 

“ The end of Life,” said the Doctor, “ is beyond its powers of 
knowledge. Death is a change that occurs at its beginning. The 
highest good is the growth of the Soul, and the greatest man is he 
who rejoices most in great fulfilments of the will of God. After 
that I deserve another pinch myself. Take yours. The clock- 
hands are too near now for further loquacity.” 

“I wonder whet the Pater’s quooting Tinnyson about,” said 
Beppino’s minced accent. He had come in unobserved. “You 
didn’t quoote it quite right though. Pater. It should be ‘He is 
the greatest who rejoices most in great fulfilments of the Will of 
God.’ ” 

“It’s not Tennyson at all,” said Janey, with intrepidity. Janey 
hated Beppino, and he for his part distinguished that she was not 
his sort. He tugged at his moustache and said, “ Oh indeed ! ” 
founded exactly as if some one else had said “Who indeed!*^ 


JOSEPH VANCE 


379 


This describes his pronunciation very closely. He added that 
neturally Mrs. Joe Vance knew Tennyson a great deal better than 
he did. 

“ I don^t know Tennyson more than every one knows Tenny- 
son,” said Janey. “ That is to say, IVe read him almost all once, 
and some of him a dozen times. But I can’t remember a lot of his 
blank verse. It’s not that that I go by. It was that I heard your 
father make the phrase as he went, and hang on the meaning. 
Come now, Mr. Beppino, if you know where it is, you can show 
it us.” 

It’s getting rather late,” said his father. “ But there’s Tenny- 
son on the shelf.” And Beppino got down a volume with con- 
fidence. He could put his finger on it at once ! 

Is it raining, I wonder? ” said Janey. “ Because we can walk 
to a cab if it’s holding up.” Beppino remarked that it was beauti- 
ful moonlight and big white clouds when he came in, but had 
been raining heavily. He spoke as one who could easily fish in 
Vivien and converse at the same time. ‘‘I know it’s here some- 
where,” said he. 

“ I shan’t forget what you’ve been saying in a hurry. Doctor,” 
said Janey. “ If it’s Tennyson I shall try to find some 
more like it. Perhaps I shall find all about Ghosts and Corpses 
too.” 

Who, gracious,” murmured Beppino, still searching. ^Ghosts 
and Corpses ! ’ How very unkemfortable. It’s somewhere here, 
t know — who yes ! — No, it isn’t — Whoo, I know I It’s here ! ” But 
it wasn’t. The Doctor thought he would go to bed — and went, 
after seeing the Professor depart. 

Perhaps I oughtn’t to keep you,” said Beppino. “ But I’ve 
just got it.” I saw a malicious twinkle in Janey’s eye. 

“ Oh no ! We like going to bed late, you can always get up 
earlier in the morning to make up for it, you know. Like Charles 
6amb. Please don’t hurry.” 

Ha, ha ! That’s good ! Like Charles Lamb ! ” Beppino’s 
hugh. was forced. He wasn’t shining. ^^Here it is — I’ve got it 
at last! — oh no ” It was only another mistake. 

^^Go on, Mr. Beppino,” said Janey, “you’ve very nearly found 
it so often, some time you’re sure to find it outright. By-the-bye, 
Jacky darling, how does one ^ very nearly ’ find a quotation ? ” 

“What a shame, Janey,” said I, for I really was getting sorryj 
for Beppino. His vexation was becoming painful to witness. 

“ Oh well ! ” said he, throwing the book down, “ if you’re going 
'!» be nasty I won’t look for it at all.” 


380 


JOSEPH VANCE 


— ^no! We won’t be nasty; let’s all sit down again comfy 
at the fire, and you bring the books.” ! 

“ It’s hardly worth sitting down about,” said he. “ Because I 
know exactly where it is now — what a fool I was not to think of 
it before.” But it wasn’t there ! 

I really never had suspected Janey of so much impishness. 
She tortured that miserable young man till nearly two in the 
morning. She would have kept him there all night, I do believe, 
if I had not said I should go home and leave them to settle it j 
their own way. As for him he was almost crying with mortifica- | 
tion. j 

Good-night, Mr. Beppino,” said Janey; “I hope your admirers i 
will read you more carefully than you have read your Tennyson.” 

And we walked out into the glorious moonlight and started for 
home. I don’t mind walking,” said she. “ Look at those cloud- 
mountains over there. It’s slushy underfoot, but that’s no 
matter.” 

I say, Jilly dear,” said I. “ You ought to be ashamed of your- 
self. Just fancy!” 

‘‘Well, Jacky darling, the more snubbing that young jackanapes 
gets the better for him! I never feel that I know much about 
him. Sometimes I fancy he is really very wicked. But I hope 
he’s only a jackanapes. Do you know he gave me an odd im- 
pression to-night, coming in as he did on the top of our con- 
versation, of being only a Baby inside — a Baby’s Ghost in a Man’s 
Corpse ! I wonder what he was like as a Baby.” 

“ A delightful Baby,” said I, “ and most comic.” And then I 
remembered how vividly Beppino, in his vexation, had brought 
back the small boy of long ago, glued to Lossie’s skirts. Perhaps 
he was still a Baby, overtaken by Manhood? 

“ He was comic enough, just now, when he was in such a rage,” 
pursued Janey. “He won’t forgive me easily. But I’ve never 
been popular with him. I’m not a Beauty, am I, Jack? ” 

“ No, you’re very ugly. But I should like to see your Ghost.” 

“In the interests of Psychical Research? Well, I’d give any- 
thing to see yours ! ” 

“In the interests of Psychical Research, let’s asphyxiate our- 
selves. Only then we couldn’t publish our experiences.” 

“ Jacky dear, be serious! I want you to make me a promise.” 

“ All right, Jilly dear. Cut away.” 

“ Promise me, darling, if ever I’m a Bogy, and you’re not, that 
you won’t grieve, and be miserable. Because seeing you, and not 
being able to speak, would be the worst of all.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 381 

** All right, love, I’ll do my best. Same promise to hold good on 
your side, of course.” 

Of course.” And we got home at three in the morning, just 
escaping a heavy downpour by jumping into a cab on Clapham 
Common. 


CHAPTER XLI 


A CHAPTER THAT HAD TO BE WRITTEN. 

If you remember anything of the great wrecks of from twenty 
to thirty years ago you will remember the spring of 1874 — and the 
news that reached London three days after the departure from 
Southampton of the Glascatherick of the Glass Line. It came 
from a Lighthouse Station on the Portuguese Coast, and told how 
the great ship with almost all on board had gone down in a gale, 
having foundered on a reef within gunshot of the coast. Whether 
from an error in navigation, from misapprehension of the Light- 
house, or from some failure of the engines, no one ever knew. 
The few who survived could tell nothing, their only testimony 
being that the voyage had all gone well till some twelve hours 
before the catastrophe, when the glass fell steadily and the wind 
rose to a gale. Some time after midnight, when those who were 
sleeping were in their deepest sleep, came a sudden stoppage of the 
screw, shouted orders and panic of aroused alarm, then again the 
screw and then the hideous crash as the ship drove stem on to 
the rock of destruction. Then a scene utteidy indescribable, 
utterly inconceivable, by those who have never known the like. 
Husbands forsaking wives, and fathers children, in the agony of 
self-preservation, strong men thrusting weaker ones and women 
aside in the. fight for the boats; Religious Faith stricken with 
despair and screaming with terror of Death; and in unexpected 
quarters, sudden Heroism. Then forlorn hopes of departing over- 
loaded boats, the cruel task of choice of who should be allowed to 
go, the dreadful cry of despair as they swamped before the eyes of 
survivors. And then the terrible word of the strong to the weak, 
who look to them for help to the last, that now no help is left to the 
powers of man. If, as may be, those that die pass beyond Death 
from a scene like this, it may be too that the memory of it is 
happily short, and even that other things we once accounted gain 
seem worse, a thousand times. For those who survive there is no 
escape from the knowledge of the past, and the memory of it is 
present with them till the end. 

Of the few survivors of the Glascatherick almost the only one who 
could give any coherent particulars was a young engineer who 

383 


JOSEPH VANCE 


383 


with his wife was on his way to Italy. He told how she and he 
were awaked by the sudden stoppage of the screw, followed by the 
roar of the steam-trumpet, and heard the shouting of orders, and 
strained rapid action of the rudder chains which passed close to 
their berths. Then the resumed movement of the machinery, 
which he was able to recognize as reversed. He anticipated col- 
lision with another ship, thinking that to a certainty land was 
distant. But the instant after came the crash, and he knew it was 
a rock. 

He was so prompt in snatching the life-belts from the cabin 
ceiling, so prompt in getting them on to himseK and his wife, 
that when they made for the stairway leading on to the promenade 
deck there were still belated sleepers coming out of their cabins 
to know if anything was the matter. Otherwise he could only teU 
that they reached the deck, forcing their way through a half- 
choked passage, that the officers and the crew were even then un- 
lashing the boats and slacking them down ready for those who 
might prefer that slender chance of life to the certainty of death. 
They heard the voice of the Captain above the turmoil, — Women 
and children first — men stand back,” — and saw him knock down a 
man who thrust himself unduly forward. The first mate came to 
them and tried to persuade the lady to leave her husband and go 
in the first boat, but she refused. ^^We go together,” said she, 
and they remained and saw boat after boat get clear, all but two 
that were swamped almost as soon as they touched the water. 
They stayed on somewhile, he could not say how long, after the 
last boat had gone, and then the ship gave a lurch and seemed 
to go head down — at least, said he, it was the end towards the 
land. 

Then the first mate came again to them and said, Now is your 
time to go. The land is not a mile away. Good luck to both ! ” 
And then he and she were in the cold dark water. The life-belts 
floated them and he swam with her left hand in his. The wind 
had fallen and the sea was less, and he was not without hope. 
He even spoke to cheer her, and she replied — and then once more. 
The third time he spoke she did not answer. Still, if he could 
only reach the land! He himself had been drowned and revived, 
and that made him hope. 

But the great black promontory came no nearer, to all seeming. 
And the hand he held was lifeless. And his own senses were fail- 
ing fast — and then his power died in his own hands, and he could 
hold hers no longer. And it slipped away from him and the dark- 
ness closed in upon him, and he knew no more. 


884 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Why do I write all this of this young Engineer and his wife? 
Because I was he, and she was Janey. And I can scarcely bear 
to write or think of that dreadful time; and could not bear to 
epeak of it, now that I cannot see Lossie, and Dr. Thorpe is gone, 
to any living creature. Yet it is twenty-three years this Novem- 
ber — twenty-three long years! — since I passed a second time 
through the shadow of Death, and was a second time dragged back 
to life again — oh, how unwillingly! at a monastery on the coast 
of Portugal where I was washed ashore, with still a spark of 
Life. 

Why could they not have left me as I was ? Ah, mon fils,” 
said a very old Spanish monk who could speak French, si on 
avait su que c’otait ta femme, on aurait su te laisser mourir.” 
As I revived slowly my first words had been, strangely enough, 
‘^Is the child safe?” The force of the revived sensation had. 
carried me back to the old days in Devon, and I was again asking 
after Lossie’s boy. Then slowly came back the agony of life, and 
I began to understand that I was alone. 

It was a long time before I recovered more than the merest 
fragments of speech. It was not grief — that was going to come 
later — but a complete prostration that, perhaps happily, left no 
room for grief. I could only pass a dumb, stunned, unquestioning 
existence. I believe it was the old Padre Pablo who set going the 
first real revival of conscious life. When I replied to him that I 
should have welcomed death, he said; ^^Je le comprends bien. Moi 
aussi, j’ai perdu une epouse. Mais pour moi, mon fils, c^etait plus 

cruel ” He paused a moment ; then continued : “ Oui vraiment, 

bien plus cruel! Enfin, c’est moi-meme qui lai tuee.” And then 
in reply to my look of surprise: “Vous ne m’avez pas tout-a-fait 
compris, mon fils? Je parle de moi-meme. Je kai tuee.” He 
then went on to tell how, being a young man of twenty, he had had 
exactly Othello’s experience, but never knew till long after how 
groundless his jealousy had been. He had fled, and it was sup- 
posed she had killed herself. C ’eta it encore pis pour moi, mon 
fils, que pour vous,” he repeated quietly. ^^Chaque jour — chaque 
heure — j’entends le cri de ma mourante. J’ai quatre-vingt-dix- 
neuf ans. ^a me durera jusqu’a la mort.” 

Nearly eighty years! The blow had been struck in Paris, in the 
days, say, of the Directory. And the cry of his murdered vic- 
tim, so Father Paul said, and I believed him, had never died away. 

A day elapsed before I was able to give any intelligible account of 
myself. I then wrote the words “On shore alone — tell her family,” 
land told them to write to Macallister, Chelsea, England. I felt 


JOSEPH VANCE 


385 


that would be sufficient — and was glad to be brief, for exertion 
to think was terrible, and torpor alone seemed welcome. I then 
charged Father Paul to give in reply to official enquiry when it 
came, or to newsmongers, simply my name and what I had been 
able to tell him of the wreck, and then resigned myself to stupefac- 
tion. With the exception of a few words with him, and now and 
then thanks for some expression of sympathy in an unknown 
tongue, from the others, I was silent, until one early morning as 
I lay awaiting the dawn and listening to the long-drawn thunder 
of the swell on the precipice below, my ear was caught by an un- 
wonted sound of voices that came nearer, mixed with the ring of 
hoofs upon the rock road. Was one of the voices English, or not? 
No, it was not! Yes — surely it was! And it said loudly and 
cheerfully, as one who encourages another, “Keep up — ^keep up — 
we are here at last.’’ 

Then I remember rising from the couch with a new life, and 
running out to meet Archie Macallister, and then my brain swam 
and I tottered forward. He was just in time to catch me as I 
fell, and he picked me up and carried me back like a child. Then 
I remember lying again on the bed, having found my own weak- 
ness, and seeing on one side of me Bony, and on the other her 
father. I have told enough. 

Man has to live, or die. If he chooses the former, he has to dis- 
cover a modus vivendi after any crushing blow. According to my 
experience, strong natures invest their capital, so to speak, in self- 
defence, but make up their minds to a long siege. I knew, even 
as Father Paul knew that the cry of the dying woman would last 
till death, that I should have to live with the touch of my darling’s 
rings on the fingers of my left hand as hers slipped away for ever. 
But I had to find out a way of doing it, and I think I was as brave 
as most. 

My partner, and her father, both of whom had left the conduct 
of business matters in good hands, were able to stay on with mo 
for a while. It may seem strange, but I did not wish to get away 
from the sea that had engulfed her. It presented itself to me 
only as the scene of our last farewell. And the last words she said 
were still in my ears. “Now, Jacky, recollect! ” and then when I 
next spoke, no answer came. 

What was it that I was to recollect ? It was a promise, repeated 
more than once after I made it when we walked that time from 
Poplar Villa after Beppino’s literary collapse; repeated in the 
ship’s cabin as I drew the life-belt on, repeated again in the water 


886 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


that drowned her. A promise not to grieve should she go first, 
lest it should break her heart to see my grief. ^Tromise again,” 
she had said, and I replied, promise, my darling.” It was a 
promise easy to make — but oh, how hard to keep! 

Which is the worst off, I wonder — the one that is left, or the 
one that is gone — the one that sees no longer or the one that still 
sees, or it may be sees more than ever before? If there be risk 
of this, how well worth the effort to hang as lightly as may be 
on the new-found freedom of the departed! Of what profit to 
oneself is the indulgence of grief at the best? Of how much 
less if each pang adds a new pang to other pain elsewhere. 

It was all such speculation, and the darkness seems so real to 
him who only guesses in the dark at an unseen sun. But a 
promise was a promise, and I fought hard and truly to keep mine. 
There was no fear of my succeeding too well. 

It was I then, and neither of my companions, who may be said 
to have taken the lead towards a resumption of life — ^the life we 
had to finish with before each could get on to his extinction or 
his knowledge of the next. It took me a week of nursing and 
another of convalescence before I was able to look plans for the 
future in the face. Had it not been for my companions I might 
have stayed on indefinitely, wandering about and watching the great 
white rollers live their life and die. I had no definite expectation 
of any trace of the body, but I suppose some such thought made 
part of my motives. I was, however, distinctly relieved when I 
heard that, though so near the shore, the ship was in such deep 
water that no attempt at salvage would be made. I had dreaded 
and avoided details of the wreck as much as possible. It is still 
rather strange to me why I found it so hard to break away. But 
there was Bony, and there was her Father. I knew they would 
not go and leave me. Neither would they, either of them, begin 
upon the task of settling the future. So I took the matter into 
my own hands. 

“ I say. Bony,” said I. Jeannie will want you back.” 

“ Yes, old chap, we’ll settle all that presently. What a queer old 
boy the old Padre is ! ” 

You had better take care — ^lie understands some English. Do 
you know, in his novitiate, or something of that sort, he passed 
a year at a place near London called Foolham. Do you know 
it?” 

‘‘ I know there is now an establishment of Catholics at Fulham, 
but I should hardly have thought it was so old.” 

He speaks of another at Amsmeedza. Do you know that one ? ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


387 


The one at nammersmith may be older. But they can’t be 
older than the century. He is.” 

Eive-and- twenty years older. More. He was actually living 
in Paris, and married, in the days of the National Convention — 
before Napoleon — ^before everything.” 

“ I didn’t know Monks married.” 

^‘He wasn’t a Monk then. He became one after her death. 
Don’t be frightened. Bony, I won’t become a Monk.” 

Poor Bony ] I could not brealt down. He could, and did. When 
he spoke again I could hear it in his voice. 

^‘Perhaps it wasn’t in his novitiate he was at Fulham. It may 
have been later.” 

‘'Very likely! When he told me, I wasn’t quite so ” 

I understand.” 

‘‘ As I am now. But, Bony dear, you have got off from the 
point. Jeannie will want you back.” 

‘‘Yes — and you too. I know what you are driving at. Part- 
ner. You want to run away, and travel about and distract your 
mind and all that sort of thing.” 

“ Nothing of the sort. Partner.” We called each other “ part- 
ner” by fits and starts, unreasonably. “I mean to do exactly 
whatever Janey likes.” 

Bony looked anxious. He felt my hand to see if it was hot. 
He felt my pulse to see if it was quick. Neither was either. He 
gave up diagnosis. But he couldn’t accept the form of my speech 
without a protest. 

“ I see what you mean, dear old chap. Exactly what J aney would 
like if she were here. Quite right.” 

But the form of a hypothesis did not suit my mood. “ Exactly 
what Janey likes if she is here,” said I, obstinately; and Bony 
replied as one who yields to a patient’s whim, “ All right, old boy.” 

He was so gently acquiescent to my every impulse, that I felt 
I had been dictatorial and overbearing. So I thought I would 
•soften it by discussing hypotheses. 

“ Do you remember old Dr. Serocold of Magdalen ? Oh no — of 
course, you were at Cambridge. How one forgets 1 ” And Bony 
asked what about the old party, nevertheless ? 

“ Only what we were saying made me think of the nature of 
an hypothesis — and of course that made me think of old Sero- 
cold. When I told him how long it took to scull to Iffley and 
back, he twinkled and, said he supposed Iffley was the place whero 
they made the hypotheses.” 

Another time I should have followed this on with more of old 


S88 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Hr. Serocold^s absurd sayings. But now I was aware of a web of 
strange filaments of pain that kept my eyes dim and my lips still, 
and I knew I could not laugh. I plunged straight back into the 
heart of the conversation. 

Grant it’s a billion to one against Janey hearing and seeing 
me now. It’s better to catch at that chance and be mistaken than 
to neglect it and find my mistake after. I know what she would 
say, almost as if she said it. ‘ Think of the Lord Chancellor.’ 
This was the name we had got into the way of calling her Father. 
** That’s what I shall do. Look at him out there.” 

Poor old Spencer did not look the same man. The prosperous, 
responsible lawyer that had bid Janey and me Godspeed less than 
three weeks since had disappeared, and now a broken-down old 
man wandered some fifty yards from where we sate on the clifi- 
side, looking out over the sea. He had a pocket telescope with 
which he scanned the horizon and the rock island some miles out, 
or the nearer rocks below. Whether he thought to detect a sad 
addition to the scraps of scattered wreck that were still left, which 
would have been his and mine to claim, I know not. But he 
spent much of his time in this way, and did not seem to care 
for talk. Janey had been his special daughter, and his heart was 
wrapped up in her. Sarry had practically vanished to Colombo, 
only reappearing at intervals. His wife was nil. I saw that his 
decadence had begun. As I finished speaking to Bony, he looked 
over to the grief-worn figure that made, upon a rock-eminence 
near us, a silhouette against the sea. 

“ Yes,” said he. The journey was awful. Too much for the 
old gentleman. I thought I shouldn’t ever get him here ! ” 

Oh, Bony ! What a job you must have had ! ” 

^^It was pretty stiff. But we got here, somehow. It will be 
a lot easier to go back.” 

‘‘But you see what I mean. Janey would like me to keep 
near him.” 

“ I expect she would be right. All go back together — eh, Joe ? ” 
and I assented. 

I can well remember how desperately weak I was as Bony helped 
me up the steep pathway when we returned to the Monastery, 
not four hundred yards away. And how a thought crossed my 
mind, as I leaned on his strong arm, that had I not been eight 
months his senior it would have gone ill with me in the old 
days at St. Withold’s. But it all seemed a dream, and I had 
hardly strength to think— least of all of the great riddle of timo 
and change. I let the memory slip from mere fatigue. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


389 


“You sit down a minute, Joe, while I go back and lend Mr. 
Spencer a hand,’^ said Bony. But just then Father PauPs voice 
came from behind us, saying, “ Permettez, Messieurs. Je suis assez 
fort, malgre mon age,” and offered me his arm on my right. 
Seeing that I had looked round to my left, as expecting him 
to come on that side, he added explanatorily: “Void ma main 
forte — a gauche — la mano izquierda. J’ai tou jours ete gaucher 
ce que nous nommons ici — nous autres — zurdo.*" And then my 
weak mind, stirring again towards its old zest for inquiry, must 
needs be thinking how long was it before that deadly battle at 
Helstaple that this other hand I leaned on had struck the life 
out of the helpless girl. Half a century, and more, though I 
could not fix the figure. Surely this old man had expiated his 
crime! But my mind reeled again, and fell baffled from the 
thought. 

And Father Paul himself might be as little in my memory 
now as any of the crowd of monks who gathered to bid us fare- 
well a fortnight later (I could not move sooner) but that he 
himself was not among then. Fie had got his release. And 
the last I saw of him was what lay on a wooden pallet under a 
huge crucifix in the cell to which they summoned me to see 
the Padre, who had died in the night. That was what had held 
him near upon a century; and now it seemed an effigy in alabaster, 
small and clear-cut, on which the hand that had struck the blow 
eighty years since lay moveless. The ears had heard for the last 
time the cry of the murdered woman, and Father Paul himself 
knew very much more, or verily nothing. 

And I said to myself, but in vain, that my own lot, matched 
against his, should seem happy. To go with my darling to the 
very gate of death, to know above all that I had shared every pang 
to the moment of parting, that what she had suffered I had suf- 
fered, that her last words still reached me almost like a voice from 
the other side — was I not surely the better off of the two? At 
any rate, if no consolation came from thinking another worse off 
than I was, the pity for him took me out of myself and gave me 
a better courage to look back on the past and forward to the 
days to come. 


CHAPTEK Xm 


JOE IS A WIDOWER. A TENANTLESS OLD HOUSE. HOW HE WENT TO DR. 

THORPE; AND OF A CHILD THAT WAS SAVED ON THE WRECK. THE 

SYMPATHY OF BEPPINO. A GOOD IDEA ! WHY NOT TAKE BEPPINO TO 

ITALY ? 

One accepts a widower, as a prosaic incident among one’s sur- 
roundings, with unquestioning content. Of course Mr. Smith’s 
a widower I It’s a way other people have — you are not going to 
be a widower yourself — you know better! 

I don’t think that brides feel nearly so confident of never being 
widows as bridegrooms that they will never be widowers. My 
experience is that women look the facts of life in the face better 
than men, not only in this but in all things. Man is a sanguine, 
imaginative animal — ^perhaps necessarily so. All sorts of things 
have to be done by men in life that involve the use of intentional 
hope as a means of self-deception. Man has to obtain shareholders, 
and negotiate loans, and form syndicates, and do many things 
of the same sort which a prosaic and unimaginative animal would 
fight shy of. He goes into the Battle of Life confident of vic- 
tory, even as the warrior on another field is confident. Perhaps 
neither would go into battle at all sometimes, if he were not. And 
then everything would slump. 

So if each man had not an inner conviction that other people 
would lose their wives, but not he — well! would any man dare to 
marry? Or would he not, if he married, seek for some mate he 
would be glad to be rid of? Would he not shudder at all Love 
except the sort that never lasts? Would he not rejoice and be 
merry when Mrs. Smith was not down to breakfast, and when he 
came home wet and tired and disheartened to find that Mrs. 
Smith had not waited dinner for him, but had gone to an inter- 
esting lecture, would he not hug himself and be happy and say 
that now here was a chance of a real comfortable evening? By 
assiduous cultivation of this attitude of mind he would avoid 
a possibly overwhelming grief for himself, and by affording a 
Btimnlus to a reciprocal feeling on the part of his wife, would 

390 


JOSEPH VANCE 


391 

fortify her to endure his loss with resignation, and to look for- 
ward to it with equanimity. 

If I had to live my life over again, with the foreknowledge of 
what was to come, should I dare to put my head into the lion’s 
mouth, as I did? Eor I had to acknowledge to myself with shame 
when it was all over that I was not more — or say, not much more — 
than half in love with Janey when I first made up my mind 
that it would be a good thing that we should be a couple and 
have an establishment. A good thing for both of us, mind you! 
— for my magnanimity decided on unselfishness (within reason- 
able limits) as being demanded by self-respect. 

And yet I feel I am wrong to think thus bitterly of my old 
self. How many a young man, after such a shock as I had 
experienced, would have brought a much more damaged piece 
of goods into the market than the one I offered Janey! And 
if none but undamaged goods were for sale in that market, how 
many weddings would there be in a twelvemonth? 

Yet in a sense it served me right — though it was hard measure 
regarded as retribution for a trivial disloyalty, a slight hesitation, 
that I should lose at a crash what had grown dearer to me day 
by day, from the beginning. What did it matter, to put it plainly, 
that I was still very, very fond of Lossie when I asked Janey 
to take over the empty tenement she could never occupy ? It went 
by veries, said Janey, the little girl that sucked the peppermint 
drop, and with Janey the woman it went very quickly by veries. 
Could I count them at all as we stood on the ship and watched 
the sun go down on that evening of the wreck — the sun that never 
rose for her again? 

But I did put my head in a lion’s mouth! I fancied — how 
many boys of my age have thought the same with far less rea- 
son — that things were at an end for me when Lossie, who 
had filled every corner of my life from the moment she kissed 
the Man’s Boy in the pantry till that earlier shipwreck of mine 
at Oxford, was suddenly withdrawn and left the dilapidated house 
to let. And then when the new tenant took possession, and even 
(if the metaphor holds good) took over some of the old tenant’s 
fixtures, and the new paper came upon the walls, and the whole 
place was sweet with the smell of flowers, and the song of birds 
in the Summer, and the fires blazed on the hearth in the Winter 
■ — even then I formed no image in my mind of what that house 
would be like next time it was in the market. The tenant left 
suddenly, and the house has stood undwelt in. The shutters to 
thq street are closed and the windows broken; but, could you see 


392 


JOSEPH VANCE 


in, you would still see the old furniture, just as she left it— ^ 
you would see too that the old tenant’s fixtures remain there still. 
But it is dark and silent; and the gas and water are cut off, 

and there is no bill up to say it is To Let. Offers have come 

for it, chiefly from Agents, but the door has never been opened 
since the day of her departure, except once or twice to show old 
friends a picture or a piece of furniture. None knows where the 
tenant is gone, but I suspect the next street; — and then my 

metaphor is quite at fault, for the house is my heart, 

and my heart goes out to seek her, and the house could 
not. This metaphorical house, though, supplies me with some- 
thing I need. Those old tenant’s fixtures still form part 
of my life, and give me a way of thinking and speaking of my 
feeling towards Lossie after Janey left me, that I might fail 
otherwise to find. I had no heart to make new confidences, and 
I wrote to Lossie as freely of my loss as I had spoken to Janey 
of my old love for Lossie. I felt all through that they two and 
I should understand each other, whatever the regulation attitude 
in such a case made and provided might be. I can remember dimly 
how I began my letter to Lossie that I wrote from San Joaquim’s. 
It was more like a wish that I could be with her to help her to 
bear the news I had to tell than a wish that she could be with 
me to comfort me. With most correspondents I have always re- 
read every sentence to see that it was right. Generally I never 
reconsidered anything with Lossie, and wrote straight off. This 
time I read and re-read, thinking to mvself, Will that give her 
the idea that I have broken down and cannot bear my unhap- 
piness?” I did not write really to tell her news that I knew 
would have reached her already, but to do what I could to allevi- 
ate the blow that I knew my calamity must be to her. To Dr. 
Thorpe I wrote otherwise. It was an odd letter, and not one 
I would have cared that any but the Doctor should see. I can- 
not recall the words, but I have still his own letter in return, 
which reached me just before leaving the Monastery. Here it is, 
twenty- three years old: 

dear old Joe: Never was a braver letter written than 
yours. All is right. I am sure of it. I don’t believe one of us 
has any idea how well God is going to manage it. Leave it all in 
his hands. 

I too had a hard fight for it, and thought I must give in. But 
I didn’t, though I had to tell two baby girls that their mother was, 
118 the phrase is, no more. I know, dear boy, my trial was not to 


JOSEPH VANCE 


393 


be compared with yours — it was all in the day^s work, and only 
what comes to many. But it was hard to look those children in 
the face too, that day at their Granny’s. Poor little Loss I I re- 
member how she came out and looked up at me. 

I have to cut this down to a short line, to make sure of it catch- 
ing you — the last possible post, as I make out, is going in half-an- 
hour. Believe me, all is right, is right, is right. That story of 
the Padre seems to me as terrible as anything I ever heard — of 
course I shan’t repeat it. 

‘‘Yours affectionately, 

“Kandall Thorpe.” 

I had had a long letter from him before, which mine was a 
reply to. It must have been written after the Padre had told 
me his story. I feel in a mist about it all now. Little wonder I 

I am writing all this, as I have said, for myself alone, and 
with only a vague idea, to give it working plausibility, that you 
will one day read it! So I do not copy all the letters I have 
kept, but place some of them in the MS. uncopied. I do so 
with the first letter I received from Lossie after my wife’s death, 
and also the second, which came in answer to mine announcing 
it. Lady Desprez’s letters are more illegible than Lossie Thorpe’s, 
and somewhat difficult to read, but worth deciphering by any one 
who cares at all about following this narrative. 

I began this chapter with some kind of notion of helping myself 
to realize the difference of my surroundings in Chelsea and at 
Poplar Villa when I came back from Portugal. I had started 
six weeks before in full health, in the prime of early manhood, 
in great spirits at an anticipated holiday trip, and by my side 
the dear woman whom I loved, my companion in all things. What 
I saw in the little mirror in the hansom in which I rode to Pop- 
lar Villa the day after my arrival late at night in Chelsea was 
a man ten years older, broken down and ill. And when I paid 
the cabby I saw that he remembered having driven me before, and 
that then there was another fare. 

The little mirror in the cab brought back to my mind that other 
young man I saw in the glass at Oxford. Was it he, come to life! 
He had been very much in abeyance during all my happy days 
in Chelsea. But here he was again, posing as a correct widower; 
while I knew in my innermost heart, though I dared not know 
it aloud, that all that was must be right, however little I could 
understand it. There was he straining that foolish limited mind 
of his to grasp something beyond the reach of our conception 


394 


JOSEPH VANCE 


of Infinity, now and again almost crying out aloud with the pain 
when some happy memory reached him out of the past, destroying 
in the lonely silence of the night the sleep I could have slept, 
but for him. I pointed out to him again and again that Janey 
might be seeing it all, and the misery his cowardice would occa- • 
sion her. But it was useless. So I said to him: “ Very well, then 
■ — ^you be a widower ! But when I am talking to Dr. Thorpe I shall 
be obliged to you not to intrude your vernacular ideas, and your 
tedious complaints of the darkness of the night, but to make way 
for the voice of the watchers who believe in the dawn; and then 
you and I can talk about it afterwards.’^ He promised to do his 
best, but when it came to the proof, and the Doctor’s voice in 
the old unchanged library said, “Oh, J oey — my poor boy — my poor 
boy !” and could speak no more, he broke utterly down, and could 
only hide his face away in silence, still holding the Doctor’s hand, 
till I fairly forced him to the effort, and one or two words came. 

I wanted him to say that he would be all right directly, and that 
it was only just at first. I wanted the Doctor to realize that 
he was misrepresenting me. We got steady in time, and then 
the Doctor and I were sitting tallying in the old place where we 
and Janey had sat and talked such a short time back. 

“ No, Doctor. It doesn’t hurt me to talk. It’s good for me. 
What was I saying — about the ship? Well! you know there wasn’t 
the slightest reason for apprehension. Oh yes — the glass had 
fallen, but the rough weather was nothing — ^nobody troubles about 
that in a twin-screw of seven thousand tons’ displacement. My 
opinion is they mistook the lighthouse for the one on the island | 
ten miles out, and thought they were steering for the channel, and ; 
of course it was the mainland — no one will ever know.” I 

“ How many did reach the land ? ” | 

“Very few. Probably I know less about that than they will | 
tell me at the Company’s Office. I shall go over to-morrow. There | 
were two or three little girls saved. I particularly 'wished to know 
about one. The reason so little is known about the cause is that 
the Captain and all the officers w^ent down with the ship. The ; 
only men who got away were the boat’s crews, and they could i 
tell very little.” ! 

“ What was the little girl ? ” 

“Kosamond Fox — oh no! Those other people were Fox. She 
was one of that Daniels lot. It’s all just like a dream now. She 
was a little thing of four, and Janey had been playing with her 
all day. I had been playing chess— I played six games that day 
- — then it began blowing and we all went to bed.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


395 


But the little girl — why did you ’’ 

Want to know about her more than the others? Why, because 
when Janey and I came out with those cork things on us we saw 
the little thing in the passage. She said, ‘take me,’ and Janey 
wanted to, but we couldn’t. It would have been useless. Besides 
it looked as if her father had left her there and meant to come 
back. That’s the worst of a wreck, you can do nothing for any 
one else. No one can have any conception of what it means who 
has not seen it.” 

“ Stop a minute,” said he ; “I can find the newspapers. I’ve 
kept them all.” And he found one with a list of passengers. “ Let’s 
see — what name did you say — Daniels ? Dax — ^Dannicker — ^Duport. 
No — there’s no Daniels at all.” 

“ Mistake, I suppose. Is there nothing anj^here of people 
saved ? ” 

“ Oh yes ! It’s here, only I haven’t got it yet. Here it is ! Oh 
Joe — how good! ” 

“No,” said I, jumping up from my chair and going to look 
myself. “ You don’t mean ” 

“ Yes, I do. It wasn’t Daniels — it was Dannicker. Rosamond 
Dannicker. Look here ! ” And as well as I could for tremulous 
hurry and half-blinded eyes, I read that the little girl saved in the 
first boat (the only one not lost) was so named, but could not 
be identified at first, as she only knew herself as Rosie, and no 
other evidence was then forthcoming. “ She was saved by the 
merest chance,” said the paper, “ if the narrative of so young a 
child can be trusted. It seems that her mother, who refused to 
go herself, preferring to remain and die with her husband, asked 
the chief mate to place her in the boat. This is our interpretation 
of the child’s report of what he said, as he picked her up, ‘ Mother 
says you’re to come now — she and father will come together.’ ” 

The recollection of this baby as I forced Janey to leave it had 
been one of my worst nightmare memories of all. 

“ Thank God for that, at any rate ! ” said I. “ It has given 
me one pleasant thing to think of. I shall hear more about it 
at the Office to-morrow.” And I lit a pipe that I might sit and 
caress this little consolation. The Doctor looked very happy over 
it. It was something to breathe with, he said. 

Then, as I sat there smoking, more came back. I could see as 
in a dream Janey and myself waiting under the shelter of a 
bulkhead — could hear her say, “We go together.” But surely 
there was something else she said, and pointed through to the 
inner stairway, where we had left little Rosie — ^and surely the 


396 


JOSEPH VANCE 


officer nodded and left us, going straight for the place. We hardly 
saw him after, and you may wonder that we did not — ^but I tell 
you again, you have no conception of what it was. I could see 
it all, in one sense, more plainly as I sat there smoking than I did 
at the time. 

^‘It wasn’t her mother. Doctor,” said I. ‘^It was Janey told 
the Mate where she was.” And I told him the story, adding that 
of course he took us for the parents. “He easily might — First 
Mates don’t learn the passengers by heart.” 

“ What became of the mother ? ” 

“ Heaven knows ! I know about the father, though — saw him 
try to scramble into the first boat, and the Captain caught him 
by the collar and flung him across the deck. He’s no loss! He 
was a red-faced, burly man — one of those chaps there always are 
on ships, who sit in the smoking-room when they’re not eating, 
and imbibe goes of whiskey and soda. He’s had his last go now, 
poor devil 1 ” 

“ Perhaps he wasn’t a devil. Most likely only a Baby’s 
Ghost in the Corpse of one of those chaps there are on ships ! ” 

“ In the Corpse of a boozy snob I ” said I, for I was not mercifully 
disposed towards him. “But little Bosie was a dear little thing, 
and was heavy on my heart. She’ll always believe it was her 
mother, because no one but I can tell her anything.” 

We sat and talked, and I began to get a feeling almost of ease. 
The Doctor’s tranquil acceptance of his own hopeful schemes for 
hereafter was seductive. For whenever he was not on the lines 
of giving them logical support he simply accepted them as a mat- 
ter of course. For instance, when we spoke of Padre Pablo, he 
remarked that the story was an awful story certainly, but for 
all that the Padre might be a most fortunate man — or at least 
a most fortunate soul. “ A healthy birth following a long ges- 
tation,” said he. “Your little lassie’s worthy father was much 
more unfortunate. He doesn’t even get any pity. Look how 
we speak of him ! What was the old chap like in himself ? ” 

“How should I describe him? Perhaps as a man concealing 
pain and forgiving the rack — ^that’s the nearest I can manage.” 

“ And his body after death — how did that strike you ? ” 

“A semi-transparent shell with no fish in it. You’ve no idea 
how small and dry he looked.” 

“ I can fancy it ! — Come in.” 

It was a knock at the door, and the knock was Beppino. It 
was the first of a series of inflictions that it was his fate to 
impose upon me. For Beppino had never knocked at his father’s 


JOSEPH VANCE 


S97 


door in his life before, and now he did it because I was a wid* 
ower. For the same reason, when he had come in, on tiptoe, 
he spoke with bated breath, and asked me how I really was many; 
times, each time throwing doubt on my previous veracities. He 
even went the length of asking shouldn’t he pull that blind down ? 
Obviously, truly considerate persons won’t allow widowers’ eyes 
I to sufi’er from sun-glare. But when I said, to help him to a 
rather easier footing, that I should be myself again soon, but 
of course I had had a stiif time, he couldn’t find any words, 
but merely said “Oh-h,” and shook his head sadly, as one who, 
not being a widower himself, could not talk on an equality. I 
would willingly have spared him the embarrassment I saw he 
really felt (it was one we are all familiar with) only I really 
did not know how to set about it. The Doctor always tried to 
palliate or shield Beppino, or discover graceful sub-intents in his 
clumsy egotisms, and I think he was now grateful that he was 
no worse. At any rate, he had not come hoof -down on my corns, 
80 far. So as soon as he had found an anchorage outside the 
radius to which my position entitled me, and was fixing me with 
a sympathetic eye from afar, the Doctor tried again to get him 
a natural and easy place in the conversation. He had not so 
very far to seek, seeing how in his boyhood I had nearly lost 
my own life fishing this very same fat little poetaster out of the 
water. 

I wonder how long you were quite unconscious this time, Joe. 
Of course you don’t know.” 

Thus the Doctor, and I replied that I was very much in the 
dark, besides forgetting all they had told me. It seemed almost 
miraculous, I said. But then it was different from the other time. 
This time I was floated by the corks, and the unconsciousness 
was as much due to exhaustion as to drowning. The other time 
it was drowning pure and simple. 

Which other time ? ” asked the Poet. He asked in perfect good 
faith, and had evidently completely forgotten. His father gave a 
little half -groan, and said, Fancy your having forgotten that. 
Beppino ! ” 

“ Who, good gracious — of course,” said he, with sudden acknowl- 
edgment of recollection; ^‘why, Juvence pulled me out — thet time 
I was left in the water. Just fency my forgetting thet!” And 
his father repeated drily, “ J ust fancy ! ” 

I was rather sorry his tone was such as to give Beppino an 
insight into the figure he was cutting, for no sooner did he per- 
ceive that he was doing an injustice to the really noble character 


398 


JOSEPH VANCE 


of a contributor to several leading reviews, than he proceeded \ 
to reinstate it in a way that threatened to disfranchise every 
other topic. I omit further attempts to spell him, except easy ^ 
ones. 

“Why, good Ged, Joe Vance, you must think me the most • 
beastly ungrateful fillow. Of course I didn’t really forget. It 
was a slip of the mind, don’t you know— one of those things that ; 
happens, don’t you know — what Sammy Sparkler calls a mes- 
alliance with oblivion — don’t you know.” 

“ Oh yes — we quite understand — of course, Joey,” etc., etc., from 
both of us. But Beppino was not going to be stroked and patted «! 
and subside soothed — not he! j: 

W^hy, good Ged I It’s only the other night I was talking 
to some fillows at the club, don’t you know, about drowning, and I 
I thought to myself what a lucky fillow I was to be there at all! ” ( 

This seemed such a painfully flat anecdote that I felt it would j 
only be kind to make some remark that seemed to assume a i 
reasonable unspoken sequel. So I said: “I was very lucky to , 
be able to haul you out, Joey. But you needn’t be so very grateful, 
because you would have been got out by Carvalho, or Guppy, or 
— somebody — if I hadn’t done it.” ' I was just going to say 
Thornberry, but stopped myself in time. i 

Now it is a much easier thing, when gratitude you have not 
expressed is imputed to you, to swear that you have not said, 
and can never say, too much, than it is to start fair and say I 
how grateful you are, and always have been for anything. Bep- 
pino became quite oppressive as soon as he was supplied with a 
fulcrum, and my almost happy chat with the Doctor was quite 
broken up and spoiled. But as it was clear it was to be Bep- 
pino et praeterea nihil, I tried to calm down his hymn of grati- 
tude for what he had clearly forgotten, and to get the conversa- 
tion into another channel. 

“I say, Bep — (oh, of course, my dear boy, we understand. We 
know you wouldn’t be ungrateful) — but look here! You were not \ 
left in the water.” I 

“I was, Joe! It must have been half-an-hour at least. I 
know because of the rum dream I had. It must have lasted half- 
an-hour, at least.” 

“ The dream about how you were out on the top of the rock, 
and the lady came. But dreams are like that.” And I thought 
of the Schloss, and how Janey had wondered whether there was I 
a Schloss overhanging this dream. There was, and it had fallen, 
and she had waked, and I was dreaming still — ^when should I wake I 


JOSEPH VANCE 


399 


i ‘‘You’re tired, Joe,” said the Doctor’s voice. “Better not try 
;i to talk — you stay quiet ! ” I did so, and went off in a half-drowse, 

; more mere fatigue than sleep. Beppino showed consideration os- 
f tentatiously, going out of the room like a conspirator oppressed 
^ by sympathy. 

' “ Feel better, Joe? ” asked the Doctor a little later. I had roused 

' up and gone to the open window. It looked out over the green- 
: house top. It was a fine early summer day ; but very chilly after 
Portugal. I listened in vain for the song of Lossie’s birds in 
the greenhouse. The scythe of Samuel the gardener rang as 
swath followed swath. Nothing would induce Samuel to use 
a lawn-cuttiug machine. He was old, he said, and his scythe was 
going to last him out. So his whetstone still was to be heard 
thinning the old scythe down, and (as I have understood) waked 
I Beppino too soon, and was a ground of complaint. To-day I 
thought how like Time Samuel looked, mowing the lawn near 
the old pear tree, whose blossoming had come and gone while I 
was watching the great white rollers following each other to death 
on the Atlantic. I studied Samuel mowing, and said I felt rested. 
The Doctor was finishing a letter at the table. 

“ I tell you what, Joe,” said he, pausing before sticking to the 
envelope, “ that dream of the Poet’s had curio^is points. He turned 
out on the top of the rock (you recollect) just like a very small 
baby, and the lady picked him up and kissed him. He couldn’t 
understand having a pair of babies’ legs on.” And the Doctor 
stuck down his envelope and directed it. Then he continued, “ I 
wish that baby could grow. If he were to get away for a while 
and get shaken out of himself a little it might give him a 
start. At present he consists of ill-developed artistic faculties and 
no moral nature to speak of. I do not think, whatever any one 
may say to the contrary, that living in a circle of narrow-minded 
voluptuaries can be good for any young man— well! he’s five- 
and-twenty, that’s not old.” 

“ It wasn’t his age I was thinking of. But are these friends 
of his such a lot of sweeps ? ” 

“ Oh dear, no ! I don’t suppose any of them are half as grubby 
as they pretend they are. But they are voluptuaries for all that, 
i They enjoy the confidence of the Muses and can instruct others 
I in the ritual of their worship without initiation for themselves. 
They take real pleasure in the practices of painting, music, and 
versification, so far as they can be indulged in spontaneously. 
Some of them, if they were forced to take pains, would do good 
work in their own way. But they are voluptuaries, and prefer to 


400 


JOSEPH VANCE 


enjoy the luxury of smatterings to any outlay of effort to attain 
maturity. What strikes me as oddest about them is the way 
in which they ignore the fact that their chief idols, the men 
whose names are always in their mouths, have attained their own 
greatness by strenuous and unstinted industry.” The Doctor pulled 
up and took snuff. I sound,” said he, “ like Mr. Barlow deliver- 
ing a Popular Lecture on Impostors.” 

“ Couldn’t you make Joey go and see the world — get him out 
into the fresh air ? ” My suggestion had an element in it of 
a desire that Beppino should go somewhere else. I was a little 
morose at his having come in at all. The fact is, he was always 
in the way at Poplar Villa. 

“ He’s always talking about going to Italy, but he keeps put- 
ting it off because it is so important that he should not vitiate 
his present inspirations until their mission has been fulfilled. I 
don’t exactly know what they are, but he wishes to keep the 
Aspects of Nature homogeneous until he has finished the Enigmas 
of Aphrodite — I believe that’s to be the title of his great work. 
The unity of the poem would be impaired if an Italian influence 
crept into the last half. He entertains no doubt of its power 
over a susceptible soul like his. Besides, he has never been at 
sea, and is terrified at the idea of crossing the Channel.” 

“Poor little beggar! I can understand his last reason. Sea- 
sickness is an enigma of Aphrodite no one has ever interpreted.” 

“ Another thing is that although he is a very good French and 
Italian scholar, as far as writing both languages goes, he simply 
has not a word to throw at a native of either country. He can’t 
understand what they say, and complains of their pronunciation. 
I don’t believe he’ll ever go unless some one collars him and takes 
him.” 

This set me a-thinking, and I resolved in my own mind that 
however little sympathy there was between us, I would collar Bep- 
pino and take him away for the Doctor’s sake. I saw it would 
be a real relief to him. I was even now beginning to fidget about 
the business which was partly the original object of my journey 
to Italy that had ended so disastrously. No one but I could 
transact it, as it related to a partnership or alliance between my 
own Firm and one in Milan. It was not open to indefinite post- 
ponement — in fact, the sooner it was carried through the better. 
I told the Doctor of this idea before I left him. He thought, I 
really believe, that I was making a great sacrifice. I was not. 
For nothing made the slightest difference to me, one way or the 
other. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


401 


Wlien I announced to Mr. and Mrs. Macallister my intention 
I of going to Milan later in the year, and taking the Poet with 
I me, Jeannie said, “What, that little idiot! We shall be able to 
! go and see the Doctor while he^s away, Bobby,^’ which was the 
I current name for her husband. Bony muttered something I didn^t 
i quite catch, but I understood it to imply a low estimate of Par- 
' nassus. I told Jeannie that perhaps if they paid Poplar Villa 
a visit now, she would have a chance of sitting for Aphrodite. 
“You might get a turn, for Hephiestus, Bony,^^ I added. And 
' Jeannie said, listen to her jealous husband growling over there. 
It was “ like the beasts at the Zoological Gardens.” 

I spent an evening in every week with my poor old father- 
in-law. He was slowly recovering some of his lost ground, but I 
saw he would never be himself again. I had, however, a sense 
of discomfort, not due to this, during my visits. His absolute cer- 
I tainty that nothing ever could be known on the hereafter question 
was painful to me, and I never could get him to see that his posi- 
tion claimed powers of judgment just as extended as that of those 
who held the opposite view. I talked to Dr. Thorpe about him, 
and he said it was only Spencer’s legal caution. “ I dare say,” said 
he, “ Spencer feels bottled just as much as I do, but he’s afraid to 
commit himself and be twitted for rashness hereafter if he turns 
out non-existent.” 

Lossie was to come over to England this Autumn, bring- 
ing children for European education. It was only her second 
I return since her marriage. It was small allowance in over 
eight years. But this time Sir Hugh was coming with her 
for a long spell — ^perhaps not to return at all. The first time 
(which you may remember was during my real engagement — 
the second one — with Janey) he was a very short time in his 
native land. This time they were to stop in Italy during the 
I Winter, to soften the severity of the change, and come on to 
; England in the Spring. It was something, at any rate, to look 
i forward to — in fact, “ Lossie again ” was almost the only anticipa- 
I tion I dwelt on with pleasure. I had, however, misgivings that 
I might build too much on it — and that it might turn out a dis- 
appointment. Things did, very often! I must be prepared for 
change. But then it would not matter if it were only in the 
same direction as the change I had seen before. 

I don’t think I can have been influenced by the chance of seeing 
Lossie a bit earlier, in my decision to go to Milan in the Autumn, 
because I made that decision when Dr. Thorpe talked about get- 
ting Beppino abroad. The first announcement of their scheme for 


402 JOSEPH VANCE 

pausing in Italy was in Lossie’s letter replying to mine about the 
wreck. 

As to the date of my going, that of course depended on the 
rapidity of Beppino^s inspiration. It was certainly impossible 
to complete the last enigma of Aphrodite within two months; and 
then, we should have to wait for the end of the great heat. It 
was just as well not to be hurried, and we should be sure of a 
calm Channel, crossing towards the end of August. If it had been 
the Northwest Passage the Poet could not have made more fuss 
about it. Certainly it was very curious how a man (I had to 
remind myself that he was one) whose experiences had gone so 
far in some directions should be so childish in others. 


CHAPTER XLin 


HOW JANEY’s piano was to be kept in tune. FRAU SCHMIDT. THE 
WALDSTEIN SONATA. THE FRAU MISLEADS BEPPINO. WHO MISS 
SIBYL FULLER PERCEVAL WAS. THE GOLDEN BEAD IN THE HUMAN 
CRUCIBLE. THE KINCARDINESHIRE JOINT-STOCK BANK. HOW ABOUT 
THE doctor’s HEART? 

The conscientious thoroughness with which Janey had put her 
affairs in order before starting was a great relief to me in 
the rearrangement I had to make after my return. Even that 
excruciating experience, the disposal of the .wardrobe, was in a 
great measure spared to me. She had given away almost all 
the clothes left out after packing for the journey — and what were 
left were chiefly new things I did not associate with her. My 
stepmother saw to their disposal, and I made no enquiry. I per- 
suaded Pheener, as I continued involuntarily to call her, to occupy 
the house provisionally, as I did not look favourably on the idea 
of letting it, and it was much too big for me. At the same 
time, although I liked to think of it as still tenanted, and main- 
taining somewhat of continuity in my connection with Chelsea, 
I could not bring myself to live there, and divided my life about 
equally between the Macaliisters and Dr. Thorpe, and (when I 
could get away easily from the works) Janey’s old home at Hamp- 
stead. 

I clung to the idea of keeping the house in statu quo, or rather, 
perhaps I should say, shrank from the task of dispersing its con- 
tents or moving them elsewhere; hence any little thing that spoke 
of its still being in use was congenial to me. I can recall espe- 
cially, on one roasting afternoon in July, as I passed my own 
house on my way to the Macaliisters, what pleasure it gave me 
to hear the piano-tuner tuning Janey’s piano by contract. If 
there had been the slightest neglect of that contract I should 
have written instantly to Broadwood that I regretted to find, 
etc. So my pleasure was not solicitude about the piano. It was 
the coming on it accidentally ; and the air of life it gave to the 
house that made it so agreeable to me. I let myself in with 
my latch-key, and talked sympathetically with the operator, treat- 

403 


404 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


ing the welfare of this piano (which no one ever played on) as 
the first object of human effort, whatever the next one might be. 
iWe recited a kind of chorus of indignant hostility to damp. We 
lamented that this particular piano should be so seldom played 
on; not because of the interest of listeners or performers, but 
because it lost pitch. Ovr conversation seemed to assume that 
the final end of music was the perfect condition of musical instru- 
ments. It sanctioned Mozart and Handel and Bach, as supply- 
ing them with a raison d'etre; but implied that the equilibrium 
of perfection was to be found rather in their perfect readiness 
for use than in any results that would accrue from it. Even the 
book-collector is not inore callous to the contents of a book than 
a truly professional piano-tuner to a Sonata. 

So when I dwelt with regret on the silence of the instrument, 
whose sweet little hammers remained for ever in rank, while each 
might be longing to share chords and assist in the resolution of 
discords, and show superhuman alacrity in response to magnificent 
execution — my friend was only inclined to sympathize under res- 
ervation. Still, concession was permissible to human weakness; 
and he went so far as to remark that it was a good pianoforte, 
and no doubt there were people who would like to play upon it. 
He had been tuning an old piano in Beaufort Street that after- 
noon. It was quite past use, and its owner was a lady who 
couldn’t go to expense. I don’t know that he meant this for a 
hint; but I took it as one, and asked him to give a message to 
the lady, placing my piano at her disposal, subject to conditions 
about time. She called next morning, and Pheener made stipula- 
tions accordingly. 

I did not want to make this lady’s acquaintance, or anybody’s. 
But I found a certain selfish satisfaction in thinking that there 
was a small fraction less of discontentment in the sum of human 
misery — owing to J aney’s piano. I remember how once when Janey 
had a bit of sticking plaster on a cut finger, she said : “ My poor 
piano ! How it must be swearing at that broken wine glass ! ” 
The evidence of her existence to the senses of the piano had been 
withdrawn again ; and from myself also this time. An equivalent 
was now supplied to the piano. There was none for me. 

My own love of music had never been more than negative. I 
liked hearing Janey play when I was smoking, but only went 
t© concerts on her account; or because a friend among the per- 
formers had sent tickets. Yet I suppose I was really just as 
musical as the public, though much less numerous. The public 


JOSEPH VANCE 


405 


[i 


can show its well-balanced mind — one-half going to an entertain- 
ment, the other stopping away. I was too self-contained to do 
that, but had I been divisible I fancy one of the halves would have 
I gone to every Monday Pop. For in those days there 'were Mon- 
day Pops. 

Being, then, this sort of ambiguous haK-lover of music, I was 
arrested opposite my own house on another later, even hotter, J uly 
morning by the sounds that came from Jaiie/s piano. Certain 
canaries were in competition or anxious to accompany; and a 
parrot was eloquent close by, but was not speaking to the point. 
Street-cries made other interruptions in connection with peas and 
new potatoes. But the music had the best of it. 

When a tooth that has ached for days is suddenly touched with 
some effective anodyne, the incredible rest is good at the moment, 
even though the torment be sure to come back. When a heart 
has ached for months, and for sheer weariness is ready to welcome 
any alleviation, however small, a strain of music we might scarcely 
notice at another time may be a relief. This music somehow 
relaxed the tension of that web of pain that I spoke of before, 
just after the wreck. It had remained ever since — now more, now 
less — ^but always there! 

As I stood watching the red sail of a barge dropped to negotiate 
the centre span of the old wooden bridge, and saw the barge 
jam itself across two piers, and make up its mind to wait for 
the next tide, it dawned slowly in my serai-musical^ brain that 
the little hammers must be very glad of this new activity. How 
they must be rejoicing over impulses they had never felt the like 
of’ In a few moments I was almost wondering if it was really 
a human hand that could do it? Had it a thousand fingers, and 
a heart in every finger?— Did each little hammer say at each 
note, “I have recorded in a second a world of loves, aspirations, 
and longings; a hundred tales of skies and seas, of piled-up 
clouds and driving foam; of the cry of the Earth for the Dawn, 
and the lament of Hesperus in the flame of the sunset; and 
I am ready to do so again the moment Frau Schmidt says go ! — 

For Schmidt was the name of the lady who had borrowed 
Janey's piano, and that was what her magic hand was do- 
ing with those little hammers. Each single note said all that 
could be said— all that the most exacting could ask— of love and 
life and the great interminable universe. Each one, as its chance 
came round to speak, said it again and again, and each as it 
spoke said too that the end of it all was Death. There is no 
life but dies, no love but ceases, no sun but shall some day 


406 


JOSEPH VANCE 


grow cold and be left an ash in dark space. I stood and watched 
the dropping red sail of the boat, and my heart pleaded with the 
music for a respite. But the music only said again, if possible 
more beautifully, all it had said before, and gave no hope. 

Stop! What was that? A sudden voice of triumph crying 
out through the bewildering vortex of resonances — a sound as 
though the morning stars sang together and the sons of God 
shouted for joy. And then again — and then again! I stood and 
listened, and lived in the music. Why would it persist in Death 
after such a cry as that? I stood and listened and longed for 
it to come again. . . . There ! ” 

And I heard what it said so plainly that its repetition made 
a sentence in my ears. Stop — stop — stop ! You’re quite mis- 
taken. Stop — stop — stop! I know you’re wrong.” And when 
a day or two later (for I was due at the works that time) I sought 
Frau Schmidt’s acquaintance, I was able to make her understand, 
by repeating that sentence, that it was the Waldstein Sonata I was 
asking for. 

I could tell how tall and broad Frau Schmidt was, by re- 
sorting to a yard measure, but I don’t think my resources 
in language are equal to describing how ugly, nor how rude. 
But what did that matter? The moment she had dusted the 
piano-keys and cracked her fingers, one knew what was com- 
ing; and in a minute it came and the whole world was enchant- 
ment. She spoke English very fluently and without more Ger- 
man accent than was natural; but contrived to select phrases no 
Englishwoman would use. I shall play to you a great deal 
very often,” said she. ‘‘And you shall find my choosings of 
musique to your satisfaction.” I did, and I considered that I 
was indebted to Frau Schmidt for an introduction to Beethoven, 
and have ever since regarded the latter as being not so much a 
Composer as a Revelation. His music always seems to me to 
express everything that I can understand, and to supply exhaustive 
conclusions in all the crucial questions of life and death; and 
I am satisfied that, when I don’t understand, it is my fault, 
not his. 

Very likely the foregoing may seem strained and exaggerated 
— but wait till you have undergone such tension as mine had been, 
and you may judge otherwise. For my part, I merely write a 
recollection. 

Anyhow, music was a great consolation to me at this time, 
and I felt no sort of new trouble because I heard it in a deso^ 


JOSEPH VANCE 


4or 

j lated home. So long as I could shirk getting up in the morning 
and coming down to a breakfast table there with no Janey, I 
did not so much mind the rest of the day. My courage always 
went bankrupt during the night, but I made up the books and 
was ready to face my creditors by tea-time. Then very frequent 

' appointments ensued for Frau Schmidt; and Jeannie and Bony, 
and even more, came in. And then the Frau, after grunting 
at every one, and insulting selected objects of contumely, would 
crack her hands backwards and suddenly let Heaven loose. How 
often I said to myself after some perfectly convincing phrase of 
Beethoven, “Of course if that is so there can be no occasion to 
worry.” It could not be translated, naturally, into vulgar Gram- 
mar and Syntax; but it left no doubt on the point, for all 
that. 

I am very glad that I was cautious and did not give Bep- 
pino a general invitation to Frau Schmidt’s recitals. For when 
he came, his conduct left much to desire the absence of. He 
recognized Mozart, Bach, and Handel as friends of his boyhood 
whom he had outgrown; but who deserved recognition. He closed 
his eyes and pawed his fat hand to the tune as one who sanc- 
tions and forgives familiar simplicities in a rudimentary art. He 
derived as keen a satisfaction from this assertion of his maturity 
as ever the Art-Critic did who invented primitives. Why he found 
it a gratification to his vanity and a means of affirming free- 
masonry (or trying to) with the Schmidt over our heads and to 
our exclusion, I can’t imagine. But he did, and then made a 
merit of concession to Beethoven and Schubert. He elbowed us 
all into the background, and shared the whole proscenium with 
the German lady, who I think at first accepted Master Beppino 
as a reality. But a Nemesis was awaiting him ; for in his anxiety 
to arrive at the pinnacle of Wagner, he forgot that he was not 
acquainted with all the works of that composer, and laid him- 
self open to detection. When the Frau (in whose face I saw sus- 
picion) asked him if he knew the Gross gdnserichsUed my German 
scholarship was enough to make me smell a rat. Beppino was 
taken in and asked for a little, to see if he knew it. The Frau 
complied, though she said that without a full orchestra it could 
not be understood. It appeared to consist of a maelstrom of 
surgings and rumblings, quite in the lower half of the keyboard, 
and getting distinctly worse. The performer seemed to recognize 
this fact, and suddenly administered the top-note of the instru- 
ment, quite by itself, like a pill, and it didn’t seem to act. On 
ithe contrary, the symptoms became alarming, and had to be 


408 


JOSEPH VANCE 


treated with a second dose, this time two very high notes, with 
no better result. Just as the time seemed to be coming round 
for a third, the Frau stopped and said she couldn’t recollect any 
more. 

If Beppino would only have left it alone, none of us would 
ever have guessed. But he persisted in breaking into our sub- 
sequent enjoyment of Chopin op. 490 by introducing discussion 
of the Grossgdnserichslied between the movements. His admira- 
tion of it was rapturous. He even petitioned the Frau to repeat 
a few bars, in contrast with some phrases in op. 490. But his 
amazement and disgust went almost to a burst of tears when 
the lady said impatiently: “I cannot repeat that stuff. It is 
not Wagner; I make it all myself. Tou are the ^ great Gander,’ 
Mr. Thorpe.” She would not let him off, but I don’t think it was 
quite fair to Beppino. 

He was very tempersome about it, and forgot that it wasn’t my 
fault. Even if it had been, I consider that the Poet’s chain of 
inference was not warranted. It is not necessarily true that a 
person who misleads you about Wagner doesn’t want you to go 
to Italy with him. Beppino nearly pulled his moustache out by 
the roots over it. Of course you think me a dim fool, Juvence,” 
said he. But I don’t want to be a baw to anybody. And I’m 
not sure that it’s good for me to go to Italy just yet. I have 
to consider My Work.” 

^^My dear Bep,” I remonstrated, ‘‘don’t be a little jackass. I 
was talking to Madame Schmidt about it, and she says no human 
creature could possibly have known that what she played wasn’t 
a version of Wagner. No one could say anything at all with 
certainty about an imitation of a full orchestra on a piano.” I 
slurred over the fact that Beppino’s blunder had not been in 
not knowing that it wasn’t Wagner, but in greeting it with ac- 
clamations due to undoubted authenticity. I assured him that 
the lady had stated, with evident self-satisfaction, that it was a 
“ gleffer ” imitation, and she had “ dried it on Makaroffsky,” and 
he had been “ dagen in.” I knew I had got this name all wrong, 
but that it wouldn’t matter, as Beppino would never question 
anything plausible. He was much appeased; discerning a re- 
covery of self-respect for himself in his great fellow-victim, whom 
he accepted d houche ouverte. But I think what assuaged him too 
was my exaggeration of the Frau’s very slight German accent. 
She was, after all, only a Foreigner; why should Balham fret, or 
Upper Tooting? 

“Well,” said Dr. Thorpe, when I rejoined him in the library; 


JOSEPH VANCE 


409 

after this conversation with Beppino in the old nursery, “has the 
Poet come to his senses — or their substitutes ? ” 

“He’s come out of his non-senses,” said I, “and I daresay 
won’t go back. I’ve told Anne to pack his things for him, and 
I’ll come down on Monday night to take him away in the morn- 
ing. I hope to goodness the wind won’t blow ! ” 

I made all arrangements for Frau Schmidt to continue to enjoy 
her privilege of the last six weeks, sine die; said good-bye to 
Jeannie and Bony and the babies ; paid Hampstead a farewell 
visit; and went over to Poplar Villa on the Monday to get a 
really comfortable chat with Dr. Thorpe before starting next day. 
After dinner we settled down to coffee, smoke, and recapitulation 
in the Library, as of old. “I’m glad the Poet has gone to this 
farewell dinner at the Fuller Percevals,” said he. “We can be 
snug and enjoy ourselves. I am really sorry for that boy. I keep 
watching for any sign of coming maturity in him, and only meet 
disappointment. It may come some day. Perhaps Sibyl Fuller 
Perceval will make him grow.” 

“ Oh, that’s what it is, then ! ” said I to myself. And then aloud. 
“ Sibyl Fuller Perceval. A pretty name, anyhow ! And they live 
in Park Lane, I understand?” 

“ They live extremely well in Park Lane. And equally well 
at Acres, which is their Somersetshire residence. And I believe 
they undergo very few privations at Craigsellar, which is their 
deer-forest in Perthshire; though it is a mere shooting-box — 
according to Beppino’s report. Even when they have to rough it 
in Paris or Vienna they manage to come pretty well off for 
champagne and delicacies. But they detest the World and its 
vulgarities; and are distinguished from the remainder of the 
Court-Guide by their Arcadian simplicity and devotion to Nature 
and Art, especially Art. All their tastes are artistic.” 

“ Including champagne and delicacies ? ” 

“ Certainly. Beppino assures me that the old gentleman is 
superior to Bacchus, and that his love of dry Monopole is a 
Spiritual instinct. The daughter’s love of dress is not due to 
a wish for admiration, or any personal feeling at all. It is an 
innate love of beauty, and its development is among the higher 
duties of life. Miss Sibyl doesn’t neglect them, and runs into 
hundreds over dresses from purely Artistic motives.” 

“ Is she a beauty herself ? ” 

“ She is— but it is a beauty of a higher type than the common 
sort. You and I are too banal (that’s the word) to understand 


410 JOSEPH VANCE 

it. It takes a Poet with a big P, or an Artist with a big A, 
to do that” 

“ Are there any brothers ? Is she the only daughter ? ” 

“ She’s the only child.” 

« Ho!” 

Why did you say ^ Ho ’ ? ” 

Oh, for no particular reason.” 

‘‘People don’t say ‘Ho’ for no particular reason, Joe. How- 
ever, I’ll tell you why you said ‘ Ho.’ It was because you thought 
perhaps this girl loved Beppino, and that more would come of 
it. But I don’t believe it will. If I did, I should go straight 
to old Gaffer Perceval and give him a hint about the young man’s 
character. I wouldy Joe, though he’s my own Son! I assure you 
I’m in earnest. But, good Lord ! It’s as safe as the Bank. Why ! 

■ — the girl will have fifty thousand a year ! That sort don’t marry 
Parnassus — eh, Joe?” 

“Doesn’t it? It can afford Parnassus.” But the Doctor, after 
looking uneasy for a few seconds, said : “ Oh no — oh no — stuff 

and nonsense! Thing’s impossible.” He then had a good pinch 
and a long sneeze, before he resumed the Subject, 

“You know, Joe, I shouldn’t have liked the job of sketching 
Master Joey to his future father-in-laW ! ” 

“ Has there been anything since that Thomberry business ? ” 

“I couldn’t say. I am a coward, and would rather not know. 
I find it difficult to excuse myself, but then, look you! He’s the 
last one here, and he’s Lossie’s boy ! Why, remember the ridiculous 
small Baby that fetched you in at that door and got under the 
table. And then we did the Euclid. He’s little Joey still, and 
I can see it as plain as possible. His Corpse has overrun him, 
and the poor Baby Ghost has never a chance. His intellectual 
powers and his carcase have grown. But his Self — no ! It’s little 
Joey still — that preposterous kiddy- widdy.” 

And I saw the Doctor’s face beam in the flicker of the firelight 
(we liked the half dark to chat in), as he thought lovingly of the 
baby of the years gone by. What would Lossie feel about that baby 
when she came to see him, this time? At any rate, she knew 
nothing about his follies — and never would from me. Then I 
went off thinking about Lossie, and her farewell to me on her 
wedding-day. When she came back four years ago, I had not 
wanted her as sorely as I wanted her now. She had presented 
herself to me as a new person, but with the force of sisterhood. 
If I dreamed about her then, Janey came into the dream and can- 
celled all else. So I thought back into the older years, where 


JOSEPH VANCE 


411 


memory lived in no terror of the awful night of the wreck. I 
wondered if I should really meet her in Italy. I was /temporarily 
at truce with pain until she should come as a reinforcement. Then 
I would have it out, and be victorious. Or rather I was like one 
who retains his breath in a long dive, and every second expects 
the air. Lossie would come, and I should then get at a modus 
vivendi, for the rest of the time. If I had known how long the 
time was to be, and how lonely, should I have dared to face it? 

All’s to come right in the end, Joe, be sure of that!” And 
the Doctor’s voice struck into my reverie like the phrase in the 
W aldstein Sonata. I don’t mean, you know,” he went on, that 
we shall meet corrected and improved editions of each other here- 
after, in a corrected and improved place, from which all the beasts 
and fools, who have not been corrected and improved out of all 
knowledge, are excluded by a Creator who might have had con- 
sideration enough for them to let them be — doing no more harm 
than any other beast or fool who has never come into existence! 
I believe I describe very fairly many people’s idea of a selected 
hereafter. But I don’t mean any such thing. I mean when I 
say all’s to come right in the end, that it will do so in some 
sense absolutely inconceivable by us — so inconceivable that the sim- 
ple words I use to express it may then have ceased to mean 
anything, or anything worth recording, to our expanded senses. 
To a mind that conceives this degree of Inconceivability, it seems 
merely common sense and common prudence to leave it all in God’s 
hands.” 

“But,” said I, “there must be some residuum of the rubbish 
of our thoughts and perceptions that will hold good throughout 
for this state and the next. There must be a golden bead at the 
bottom of the Crucible.” 

“ Of course there is,” said the Doctor. “ Love is the golden 
bead at the bottom of the Crucible. But love isn’t thought or 
perception or even passion, in the ordinary sense. It’s God knows 
what 1 I give it up. But it’s a breath of fresh air from the highest 
Heaven brought somehow into the stuffy cellar of our existence. 
It’s the flash of light that strikes on the wall of the tunnel our 
train is passing through, and shows us the burst of sunshine that 
is coming.” 

And again as he spoke, I heard the phrase of the Waldstein 
Sonata. And I thought to myself, how simple it all was, as stated 
by Beethoven; how complex when rendered by what my father 
would have called poll-parroting. Though truly Dr. Thorpe’s poll- 
parroting seemed to me to go very straight to the point. 


412 


JOSEPH VANCE 


‘‘As for Joey,” continued he, going back to our penultimate^ 
and to his hesitating tone again, “ he’s had much too easy a time 
of it. When I say I hope Miss Fuller Perceval will make him 
grow, what I mean is I hope a disappointment’s brewing for him 
in that quarter. Only I doubt his being capable of forming an 
attachment the frustration of which would do more than wound 
his vanity. That might make him worse instead of better. His 
best chance would be in real trouble. You see, Joe, one of my 
theories, about soul-growth, is that pain of one sort produces it. 
Perhaps I should rather say that certain circumstances pro- 
duce forced growth of the soul, and we call the effect on our- 
selves pain. We can’t the least analyze the sensations which a 

great loss ” The Doctor stopped suddenly in the middle of his 

sentence. “ There — there ! ” said he, “ I was quite forgetting. 
But you forgive me, my dear boy; I know.” He interposed a 
pinch of snuff, and shied from off his topic. “ What is the Ger- 
man lady who plays the piano? Did you ever find out more 
about her ? ” 

“I’ve not asked questions — I had just heard about her before 
the piano-tuner mentioned her — or I might have been afraid to 
ask her round. But go on. Doctor, where you left off — ‘We can’t 
analyze the sensations a great loss produces’ — ^Dr. Thorpe looked 
intuitively at me for a couple of seconds — then decided to go 
straight on. 

“ Produces, because we can’t localize it. It is not our body 

that is suffering, nor our mind, which often remains quite col- 
lect and intact. It is, briefly, our Self. And it is in moments 
of greatest suffering, of that sort, that we feel most keenly that 
we have a Self, that is neither mind nor body.” He stopped, and 
then after a pause said, “This is vivisection,” and I answered, 
“I prefer it.” I am not cooking the conversation, but giving it 
word for word. The operator, however, seemed less ready than 
the subject. I did not want him to flinch from his analysis. So 
I went on with it myself. 

“When I began to recover consciousness— well ! let me think 
— what did I feel? I myself was perfectly free from suffering 
and recollection alike. I only wanted to be left unconscious. What 
I wanted to say to them was, “For God’s sake, don't T Then I 
spoke, and thought it was Lynmouth over again. But I can’t 
recollect that. I was told after. Then I had a long half-stupefac- 
tion, in which I waited for the man I should be obliged to be to 
remember something I dreaded. That’s the nearest I can so 
tQ it.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


413 


Then I began to suspect that Dr. Thorpe imagined he had 
touched too roughly on the subject, and believed I was making 
a parade of my readiness to talk of it in order that he might not 
blame himself. Perhaps neither of us was sorry that the post 
made an interruption. The Doctor opened a variety of letters 
and enclosures, and I filled a fresh pipe and went on smoking 
in silence, till the letters should be done with. 

“ Violet and her husband are due next week in Bruton Street. 
You’ll just miss them, Joe. Like to see her letter? — ^Now what’s 
this one? Will I subscribe to the Home for Indigent Well-Con- 
nected Valetudinarians and Hysterical Discharged Female Con- 
victs? No — I won’t ” 

“ You made that up. Doctor.” 

Well, my dear boy, it’s very near. Now what’s this ? Another 
letter from the Dumfries and Kincardineshire Joint-Stock Bank. 
Do you know, Joe, I’ve been pelted with letters and statements 
about that Bank — it’s gone smash and ruined all the shareholders. 
I’m sorry for them, but why did they send to me? I can’t 
imagine. I can’t help them ! ” 

Let’s have a look,” said I. And the Doctor threw me over the 
papers. I caught them, and he opened another letter. 

‘‘Well — that’s a good joke!” said he, presently. “You remem- 
ber Thistlethwayte ? ” I couldn’t, however. 

“ He was that Perfect Lubricator chap. Well ! He’s got hold 
of a rich man who wants to found a Chair of Perpetual Motion 
in some University, here or in America, and he’s to be the first Pro- 
fessor. Isn’t that funny ? ” 

“ A — yes. But I was looking at these Bank Failure things. Are 
you quite sure you never had any shares ? ” 

“ Quite sure. I never knew anything of it.” He was evidently 
quite unconscious of any connecting link. 

“ What about the perpetual motion man ? ” said I. “ Is he 
going to found the University as well as the Chair ? ” 

“He’ll have to. But then he can work in some other chairs 
of the same sort, a Professorship of Quadrature of the Circle? 
How would that do? Or a chair of Omniscience? One of Aero- 
station would be too reasonable. And one of Transmutation of 
Metals ” 

But the Doctor stopped suddenly, and lay back in his chair 
drawing in long breaths and blowing them out sharply. “It’s 
nothing,” said he; “it ’ll be over directly.” Some whiskey was 
waiting to be made into toddy on the table, and I made him 
drink a little. It made him recover his colour^ which had gone 


414 


JOSEPH VANCE 


rather rapidlj out of his face and hands. In about a quarter 
of an hour he seemed all right again. 

“ I often have little upsets of that sort,” he said. But it made 
me determine to say nothing more of the Bank Failure, which I 
could not help feeling uneasy about. I slipped the papers un- 
noticed into my pocket and kept the conversation to cheerful sub- 
jects, such as Lossless arrival, the possibility that she might remain 
in England for good, and so forth. We chatted on very cheer- 
fully till we were interrupted by the Poet, almost wild with panic 
because the wind was blowing a gale — so he said! I went out 
to see, and came back saying that it wasn’t a gale — it was 
a hurricane and was just from the worst quarter. Never mind, 
Bep,” said I, “you know you’ve only got to swallow a quart of 
salt water, and then you’re sick and never feel any unpleasant- 
ness after.” A further statement that people had been known to 
bring their toes up, inside out, excited his suspicion. “ I believe 
you’re humbugging, Juvence,” he said — “ I really do — Now I 
say, reely, aren’t you?” And I admitted that it was the case, and 
observed that it was a balmy summer night. “ There now,” said 
he, “ you’re going all the other way round now. One doesn’t know 
where to have you sort of cheps.” And he went to the window 
and put his hands out to see if it was blowing great guns. 

I persuaded him to go to bed, as a good long sleep (I said) kept 
off seasickness. And as soon as the Doctor retired, I made a 
packet of the Bank Papers with a letter to my father-in-law, 
asking him to find out if anything concerned Dr. Thorpe. I wasn’t 
easy about them, but could not see anything in them myself. I 
posted them next day at Charing Cross, when we were in course 
of departure. 

Thus it came about that Beppino and I were actually crossing 
from Dover to Calais. 




CHAPTER XLiy 


BEPPINO AS A MARINER. PARIS AT PARIS. THE JOURNEY TO ITALY, 
IDOMENEO PELLEGRINI. BUT NO JANEY NOW. BEPPINO CARRIES OFF 
JOE^S TRUNK TO FLORENCE; WHEREOF THE ENGRAVED NAME CAUSES 
MUCH APPREHENSION. 

Lest I should seem to write with undue irritation about my 
namesake, I may remind you that I now look back at him through 
events I have not yet related — events not of a sort to appeal to 
leniency. You know nothing of them. 

I felt very tolerant at the time of our start. Only the child- 
ish part of him came to the fore. There were no interesting 
girls in the train, whom he could have snapshotted (as the phrase 
is nowadays) as models for any repulsive female in History or 
Mythology. So his manly qualities kept in the background. He 
was so anxious to know about the cross-channel passage that he 
inquired of railway porters at stations on the way down whether 
the sea was rough. He tried to do it in an incidental careless 
way, as an old sea-salt who was above suspicion of basins. The 
referees replied, unfeelingly, “Can’t say, I’m sure. Sir” — except 
one who testified to having heard say that they was expecting 
a gale at Brighton. This terrified the Poet, who passed the re- 
mainder of that railway-carriage in catechizing a very stout old 
lady and an intelligent spinster concerning seasickness, its cause 
and cure. The trying crisis of arriving quite close to the ter- 
rible ocean and not seeing it, was passed through in dumb silence, 
and then, as the train sauntered easily into the harbour-siding, 
arm-in-arm (or handle-in-arm) with a row of porters it recognized 
on the way, peace came to the soul of the Poet, and swagger 
and defiance of the billows set in. For not only was the sea 
a sheet of glass, but expert testimony came from our particular 
porter that we were sure of a smooth crossing to-day; though 
it had been blowing hard in the morning, and he expected a bad 
change shortly after our arrival at Calais. This gave us the posi- 
tion of the most favoured nation, and seemed to call for liberality 
in tips. 


415 


416 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Once safely on board, Beppino strutted about the deck in a 
plaid railway wrapper, and felt like Francis Drake or Sebastian 
Cabot. The tension having come to an end, he tendered retro- 
spective recognition of former experiences of mine, and reminded 
me I was a widower by a certain considerate minor key in his 
voice. Of course you’re used to this sort of thing, J uvence,” 
said he. But I was not thinking on the same line as he, — but 
of how Janey and I crossed from Folkestone to Boulogne to go 
to Normandy; and how the sea now was not so blue as then, nor 
the gulls so white. 

By the time we arrived in Paris the Poet had persuaded him- 
seK that he was familiar with life abroad. He seemed rather dis- 
concerted at the virtuous dulness of the French metropolis, hav- 
ing expected a city on the lines of Our Correspondent in the 
morning paper taken in at Poplar Villa. I forget what paper 
it was; but this column was redolent of chic, and can-cans, and 
gay and lightsome occurrences of every kind; almost always re- 
sulting in dissatisfaction to some lady’s husband. We should 
not have had any excitement at all, if our cocker had not got 
locked into a jam of vehicles in a narrow street and used 
very bad language. The chaos of execration and badinage that 
ensued was, however, only French for what you might hear any 
day in London, delivered more volubly. There was nothing plummy 
or wicked about it. Beppino was disappointed, and I think rather 
frightened. But he got some consolation from the many portraits 
of forward young women, all of them evidently no better than 
they or any one else should be, who threw the whole force of 
their fascinations into persuading you to take aperients. After 
dinner, at the Hotel, we strolled out and got coffee and cognac 
in the open, and a very pleasant fat woman with an equally 
pleasant fat baby put a little automatic doll to dance on the 
pavement for our delight, and probably remembers us with grati- 
tude to this day. But the multitude of complete families that 
were having, or had had, their evening meal at marble tables in 
the street, seemed a shock to the Poet’s sense of immorality, which 
he had hoped would be gratified by a visit to Paris. I explained 
to him that the parents never belonged to one another, however 
plausible they seemed. In fact,” I said, “ it’s only by the merest 
chance a French lady ever marries her own husband.” Beppino 
then distinguished that I wasn’t in earnest, and we went into 
a cafe chantant to see some real life. An unemployed vivandiere 
was singing an arch song too fast for either of us, and occa< 
Bionally kicking a Pierrot, much taller than herself, on the head. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


417 


apparently without difficulty. Nobody could have predicted it of 
her — she was so very plump. After this it was no great surprise 
that she should climb up him somehow and stand on his head. 
I didn’t like to tell my companion that I had gathered from a 
heard word or two that this couple were imited in lawful wed- 
lock, and that domestic bliss was the leading idea of the per- 
formance. It was altogether too respectable. 

We had made up our minds to travel all night. But I think 
if I had realized how intensely sleepy a Poet could be I should 
have insisted on staying the night in Paris. And not only was 
he intensely sleepy, but he could no more sleep upright than a 
toy-tumbler with a weighted head. First he fell over to the right 
on a pair of French honeymooners who had covered themselves 
with one rug, and who came out to say that Monsieur was tres 
maladroit. Then when I had pacified them, and got them to bed 
again, Beppino rolled over to the left on a Baron who was har- 
bouring a live fowl somewhere, which had puzzled me by crow- 
ing at intervals. As Beppino was only equal to saying, “ Whoo — 
I say! What’s the French for ‘sorry’? Je suis bien fache. 
Monsieur,” I had to do more apologies. This sort of thing in 
the green-shade darkness of a veiled light, skinned at intervals, 
makes up the oppressive life of the nocturnal railway-carriage — 
always to me the worst of all between Paris and Basle. Then, 
as you have just won a position, and are getting a little sleep, 
you shoot into a sudden benighted station inhabited by a for- 
gotten functionary with a lantern, who to annoy you asks to see 
your ticket, and shows indifference when you produce it. And 
you subscribe to the opinion that the Turkish system of simply 
keeping the victim awake is the cleverest torture man has yet hit 
upon. Outside, in the darkness, the endless yell of the whistle 
through the night, and almost before the tink-tink-tink of the test- 
hammers on the axles has had time to report favourably on one, 
the cry of “En voiture. Messieurs, en voiture ! ” 

Consolation comes at Basle. — Coffee is always coffee abroad 
(though sometimes an appalling calamity in England) and fresh 
trout is a great consolation — to those who get it. I wish you 
may, next time you are at Basle. We were lucky, and went 
ahead refreshed. Then the Poet, who was very bad about Ger- 
man, wanted to know what a nicht-raucher was, evidently think- 
ing it was the name of a wild beast. We felt emancipated from 
the clutches of the night, and conversed cheerfully. The engine 
began to complain of having to go uphill ; and then towards lunch- 
eon-time three young German Frauleins, who were taking a little 


418 


JOSEPH VANCE 


refreshment to keep them going, suddenly started up shouting, 

Schau — schau — schau ! ” 

And what we were to schau was the Alps. And Janey was not 
with me to see them. 

Beppino was on his guard against admiration, and showed such 
watchfulness and discipline that I hoped maturity was going to 
set in. The amount of cunning he exhibited in the protection of 
his amour-propre was equal to that of a full-grown Critic. The 
Jungfrau (I think he said) was greatly overestimated; which 
may have been the case, but I have never seen an estimate. But 
he made some concession to the outline of Pilatus. I forget 
whether the railway went beyond Lucerne in those days — I fancy 
it did, but we went by the boat to see the sights. I can remem- 
ber Beppino in his secundum artem suit, very tourist of very 
tourist, walking about the deck with a double-barrelled telescope 
and a Baedeker, and conversing affably with wandering Anglo- 
Saxons until detected and consigned to oblivion. If he had been 
content not to pretend, he might have been “ that interesting young 
man we met on the boat,” in several English and American families. 
But he preferred to strut, and fell in their esteem accordingly. He 
was much more circumspect when I was in the conversation. He 
was dreadfully afraid of me. 

We stopped at Brunnen for the night, and Beppino purchased 
an Alpenstock. My recollection is that there were already some 
names of inaccessible peaks carved on the handles, which the owner 
would have ascended if his inclination had been greater, and that 
of the mountain less. I explained to him that it would be no 
use on the diligence across the St. Gotthard. He was really re- 
lieved when I told him the road was as clear of dangers as the 
Old Kent Bead, and felt he could climb imaginary Matterhorns 
in peace. His next severe trial was sitting still on the top of 
the Diligence while it skidded down dreadful steeps with nothing 
but stone sugar-loaves to prevent its going off the road and over 
a precipice. But a promise of an easier time was at hand, and 
when the rock tunnel came that lets the traveller into a sunny 
Italy, the Poet felt reassured. 

And then we descended into Heaven, and at the end of every 
new solo of the skid that shrieked on the wheel the sun 
was warmer. And the Ticino roared and thundered along its 
private road that it has made for itself in all these long past 
ages, and called out to the coach above that it, too, was on the 
way to Italy and was glad. For it had had a hard, cold time 
on those cruel moraines up there behind us, and now the sun 


JOSEPH VANCE 


419 


had set it free. What the Poet made of the music of the cataracts 
below I can’t say; but I was pretty clear it was a hymn of 
praise to Helios, and that the rich grape clusters on the increas- 
ing vines wanted to join in it audibly, and call attention to the 
benefit they too had received. But practice forbade them — and 
they could not even hold their tongues, having none; even as 
one’s partner at whist has none, and trumps. 

Children are precious everywhere. Even the beer-slopped midget 
of the beery vermin of a beery London suburb is precious, and 
one yearns to pick it out of the beer as a fly out of the milk. 
But oh how precious are the swarms of babies that come out 
to see the coach go by, when it goes by on a strada, and they 
come out of casas and quartieri that their babbo can hardly 
pay the appiccione of — ^when their voices are out of all propor- 
tion to their compact minuteness, and a crowd of them bubble 
out music like a grove of nightingales — when, in short, they are 
bambini! Every little pair of feet seems to be carrying an irre- 
placeable jewel, a germ of endless possibilities in manhood, into 
all the dangers and most of the dirt that two recently opened 
black eyes can see their way to; every little pair of hands to be 
seeking something to put together, or something else to pull to 
pieces. And there are such a many of them, and they seem so 
cheap ! • 

But in that land where we were they are not in the market. 

I Vou may, if you like, pick them up and hug them, while regret- 
' ting their defective hygienic arrangements, but buy them you 
can’t, whatever may be the case farther south. I recall two espe- 
cially, somewhere near Bellinzona, close to a water-mill, where 
we stepped a few minutes, who were engaged thoughtfully on a 
most beautiful mud-pie. I suppose they had seven years between 
the two. I was fain to pick up the smallest and kiss it. Its name, 
as I learned, was Idomeneo Pellegrini, and its face was solemn. 
It was not alarmed, and returned my attention courteously, print- 
ing off one of its hands on my forehead. I was obliged to wash 
it off when we got to Lugano in the small hours of the morning. 
I was sorry. He was to me the baby I should have passed on 
to Janey when I had done with him, had Janey been there. How 
she would have enjoyed Idomeneo Pellegrini. 

But Janey was not there, and I could only half enjoy him by 
myself. I left him and his friend going on with the mud- 
pie thoughtfully in the valley of the Ticino five-and-twenty years 
ago. Perhaps a baby of his is making a mud-pie there now. 

We got to Lugano, as I said, and the sleepiest cameriera that 


420 


JOSEPH VANCE 


ever was waked by an ’ostler shouting Mariuccia to her, and 
banging at her door, came out and got us a candle, and showed 
us a room and forsook us rapidly, leaving us without matches. 
Whereupon the candle tumbled on the ground and we were left 
in the dark in a silent palace, and had to shout to Mariuccia, 
who didn’t hear. However, at last Fiammetta came and rescued 
us, which did just as well. I am ashamed to have to record 
though that Fiammetta boxed Beppino’s ears for him before she 
left. I had to explain to him that he was no longer in Eng- 
land. I wonder if Fiammetta ever thinks now of that impertinent 
young Signore Inglese, and how the slap resounded. 

Nothing of any interest occurred during the rest of the journey 
to Milan — indeed, if I were asked why I have thought the fore- 
going worth writing I should be puzzled to say. My business 
detained me in Milan; and in a day or two Beppino was bored, 
and as he was getting accustomed to his surroundings, and I 
noticed that he was keeping at a respectful distance from every 
ragazza, I raised no objection to his going on to Florence by 
himself. ^^But, I say, Juvence,” said he, ^‘what am I to do about 
that blessed portmanteau? It’s all ripped open.” 

“ There’s a trunk-maker just ' down by the arches,” said I. 
^^You can say to him, ‘Mi occorre rammendare un baule rotto 
— Hotel Sorrento — Subito, subito ! ’ Or suppose I come with you 
— ^perhaps I’d better.” 

“ Won’t the Hotel people get it done for me? ” 

“ Of course they would. But they are human, and their interesse 
is for you to stop on. Twig ? ” 

“ What a race of double-dyed scoundrels foreigners are ! But 
you’re a dear good filler, Juvence, and you’ll come along with 
me and explain, won’t you ? ” 

“With pleasure. Or, stop a minute! We can do better than 
that. You can take my trunk — it’s the same size as yours. And 
I can easily get yours mended after you’re gone.” 

“ Good filler you are, J uvence I Then I can go at once.” 

“ Catch the next train — this evening 1 You’ll just have time to 
dine comfortably if you go now and pack your things into my 
box. I’ll come and see your luggage booked. And I’ll wire now 
to the Minerva at Florence to make sure they have a bed for you. 
Of course they will, but it’s well to wire. Cut along and get 
packed.” He did so, but presently reappeared. 

“I say, Juvence, there’s your name, ‘Vance,’ written large on 
the portmanteau. Shan’t I get in some row about that ? ” 

“Not a bit. If any one says anything, pretend you think he 


JOSEPH VANCE 421 

asked for una lira, and give it him. But nobody will. They don^t 
look at names where tickets are given for luggage.” 

“ Of coarse not ! ” This was said with a pronunciation which 
implied, As if I didn’t know that ! ” 

“Besides you can say it isn’t a name at all — say it’s a place 
— name of your villa residence near Londra. They’ll only put it 
down as another forester’s eccentricity. They look on us as 
mere children, and quite unaccountable. But tie on a label with 
your proper name on it. They’ll call you Torpay.” 

Which Beppino did, and departed. I wasn’t sorry to be rid 
of him. When he had gone I sat in the front garden at the 
Sorrento and made tobacco rings from the smoke of a Trabuco, 
and wished twopenny cigars fit to smoke could be had in England. 
A small boy climbed up outside the railings, and laughed with 
Lossie’s laugh, filling the whole place. And I passed him through 
the rails a more substantial meal than he had for some time; 
Janey would have done so. And this ragazzino ate it all up as 
he would have eaten it then. But when he went away the song 
he made to dance down the street with was not what he would 
I then have made. It was 

“ n signore forestiere, 

I II signore forestier — 

and had Janey been there it would have been la Signora. It did 
I not add to my sadness, or my hunger for the end, to think 
all this. It was as it was. Nor was my longing to see Lossio 
crossed by any fear of a counter-clash of two feelings. I say 
what I mean quickest when I say that I knew we three knew 
all about it, and understood. I only looked to Lossie to bring 
me a precious gift of tears I could not get elsewhere. Should 
I meet her in Italy? I went to bed and dreamed of the Baron, 
and the cock that crew all through the night in that miserable 
railway-carriage. 

A letter came to me at Milan about five days after, announcing 
the Poet’s safe arrival. I did not fret about him, as I knew 
all about the Post-Office in Italy in those days. Probably it 
has improved. His letter said Tuscany had taken the matter of 
his name in hand, and settled it in its own way. He was Van- 
chay, not Torpay, and remonstrance was inefiectual. If he got 
in the thin end of the wedge of explanation with the Com- 
missioner in the ingresse of the Hotel, who spoke English, Ger- 
man, French, and Kussian equally well (or ill), the waiter in 


422 


JOSEPH VANCE 


the sola da pranzo came out and undid it all by affirming th« 
accuracy of Yanchay against all comers. And when the unfor- 
tunate Beppino shouted, as one shouts to him who says “Ho 
capito’’ and (as Beppino added) doesn’t capito at all, and was 
beginning to make him see the truth of the case, a pestiferous 
cameriera from the landing above claimed powers of interpreta- 
tion, and cut in with ^‘Thus says the Signore, that one makes a 
sbaglio when one calls him Torpe. He is really Vance.” The idea 
of Beppino’s convulsive efforts to obtain his name, always with a 
reverse result, was laughable enough. He ended his letter by 
saying he should have to accept Vanchay, as even an Italian lady 
at the Hotel had failed to procure Torpay for him, although she 
spoke English fluently. And then it had turned out that she 
herself had misunderstood, and made matters worse! 

It’s got grimed in now,” wrote he, and I can’t get a chance. 
However, I suppose it really doesn’t matter.” I too supposed 
then that it really didn't matter. 


CHAPTER XLV 


tfOE^S RETURN HOME. MR. SPENCER AND COMTE. HIS BAD NEWS 

ABOUT DR. Thorpe’s affairs, a forgotten trust fund, the 

DOCTOR BANKRUPT. LOSSIe’s RETURN FROM INDIA. 

I RESOLVED to sauiiter about a little in the north of Italy until 
I should know definitely when Lossie and her husband were com- 
ing. I finished my business in Milan, and not finding anything 
very interesting in the town, went on to Bergamo, Brescia, and 
Yerona, idling about void of purpose; and building on the chance 
of Lossie’s arrival. I was afraid when she got to Italy she might 
be tempted to stop on into the spring. A London winter, after 
the sun-world of the south, is far from tempting. So I kept on 
hoping to see her in Italy before returning to the land of hushed 
speech and tied houses and All the Winners. But my hopes were 
dashed when I got to Venice, where I had told Bony to send 
letters; as it made the end of a fortnight’s slow progress through 
the above three towns. General Desprez and his family had been 
detained later than was expected, and would not reach Rome, 
where they would stop first, till October. It would not be fair 
to Bony to leave the business so long. So, after a week in Venice, 
chiefly in a gondola, I cut my own stay short and came back. I 
should not have stayed so long, only I felt I ought to consider 
Venice, and give her my valuable company for a week; espe- 
cially as she would never be able to understand that I really did 
not care about anything a.t all. I remember thinking how nice 
it would be if the Fondaco dei Turchi, some fine moonlight night 
when I passed in a gondola, would fall over and crush me once 
for all and have done with it. In those days the Fondaco was 
on crutches and seemed on its last legs. It has been set up 
again since then, without the aid of all the king’s horses and 
all the king’s men, and is quite spick and span. It did not fall, 
and I came back a roundabout way through Trieste, Vienna, Mu- 
nich, and Strasburg — then down the Rhine to Cologne and some- 
how to Antwerp and London by a boat called, I think, the Baron 
Osy. All that wandering left little to recollect, and I was very 
glad when I got back and was giving the presents I brought with 
jne to little ^chie and Flixie, Jeannie’s children. 

49.3 


424 


JOSEPH VANCE 


I had not been away over a month, and of course I expected 
extraordinary changes on my return. The crowd of events in 
a short tour seems always to imply to the traveller an equal sup- 
ply of incidents at home during his absence. And of course noth- 
ing had occurred. I went the day after my arrival to Frognall, 
and turned into the library, to feel illogical surprise at its identity, 
Mr. Spencer wasnT back yet. Missus wasn’t up. So I sat down 
in the old chair — ^my first chair in that house — but took out a 
book. I did not choose it, but took it up at random. When I 
found it was “Peter Simple” it brought back my first visit, and 
how full of Lossie I w^s in that schoolboy time. And, mind you! 
I did not remember the non-Lossie part of that visit then nearly 
so clearly as it has come back to me since, while writing this. 
Put I read on in “ Peter Simple ” and came to the old place 
and the explanation of flapdoodle. And I looked up at the little 
mirror on the table — there it stood as of old, on a little base of 
silver-work — ^but the room I saw in it was empty, and when I 
had looked before I had seen a little girl — ^half shy, half bolc^ 
— approaching circumspectly through scattered incidents of fur- 
niture. Dull and stony I sate, and dreamed through what came 
back of our childish talk, till I came to the end, and my memory 
of the little girl used the words I remembered her using again 
so well — her last words to me as hope died in my heart, as I 
fought the waters in vain. “ Mind you recollect ” 

Yes — I would try hard to keep that promise. But it was so hard 
not to grieve. If only the tears could come, and I might feel 
less like a dry wood-chip, aching. 

As I write this for myself, not for you, I shall add now some- 
thing you will not understand; an odd experience of a mind 
strained by sore tension, not self-controlling, but forced to take 
its course by stray impulses, coming Heaven knows how! As 
my memory came to “Mind you recollect,” Lossie’s knock at 
the door followed, and she came in and brought again exuberance 
of life, and the idea that all the blinds had been drawn up and 
the sun had come out. I could almost hear again the stimulated 
singing of the bird. The effect upon me was that I broke into 
a torrent of tears not the very first perhaps that I had shed 
since, but the first of relaxation, almost of luxury. Grief had 
a new form that I could welcome, and I was an aching wood- 
chip no longer. I was grateful for that memory of a girl with 
sunny hair blown across her brow and long lashes to gray-blue eyes 
that looked so seriously at the boy that once was me. And that 
little thing that stood there still, in my memory, finishing that 


JOSEPH YANCE 


425 


peppermint drop, was Janey, my wife that was gone; that I could 
see and hear no longer; that I had lost touch of in that dark and 
dreadful sea. 

I could say none of this to my father-in-law. It would only 
make him talk about the Choir Invisible and how the dead were 
really with us still, only they weren’t. He had found consolation 
among Positivists many years before, and had committed himself 
so often to the sufficiency of Comte to a well-regulated mind, 
during a period of happy exemption from home-thrusts of Death, 
that he could not well surrender at discretion because he was 
hard-hit in his first general engagement. He was (if a person 
who has not gone much into these matters may venture on such 
an explanation) an example of a Christian who had endeavoured 
to strain off the teachings of Jesus the Nazarene from the scum 
and the dregs of the World and the Churches, and had never 
been able to decide on the mesh of his strainer. He and I and 
Janey had often talked vaguely on the subject, and he always 
seemed to me to be endeavouring to find a sieve that would let 
Christ through, and keep the Miracles out. Do what he would 
the Resurrection slipped past. The stone that was rolled away 
from the Sepulchre broke a hole in the mesh, and the Gadarenc 
Swine found it out and came through with a rush, and then 
a new sieve had to be provided and the whole operation repeated. 
There was one thing clear, that due account had to be taken 
of what the Laws of Nature would permit. And though Mr. 
Spencer didn’t include them in his own Legal acquisitions, it 
was very well known that they were pretty well loiown in Albe- 
marle Street. But personal application (so to speak) for a ref- 
erence to the original Codex of Nature having led to no produc- 
tion of an attested copy, poor Mr. Spencer was thrown back 
on choosing between the interpretations of the churches (or 
rather an interpretation of some Church) and pure Negation, 
unless some form of compromise could be effected. He had seemed 
to find satisfaction in Comte, though I never could trace out its 
source. His continued adhesion under strain I felt did him credit, 
and I did not want to disturb it. So when he came into the 
library, and read my thought in my face, I gratefully accepted 
the way he held my hand and looked at me as sufficient recogni- 
tion of the past, and let me go on to other matters. He had some- 
thing on his mind to tell me. 

^‘You’ve seen Dr. Thorpe, of course, Joseph,” said he. 

No, only my partner and his family so far. I only came home 
yesterday evening.” 


426 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“ You were good to come to us first,” he said. But the Doc- ‘5 
tor will want to see you as soon as you can go. Of course you , 
got my letter ? ” 

^‘No, indeed — no letter has come. What is it?” For I was 
alarmed, naturally. 

‘‘It is less serious than we anticipated,” said he, leaving me 
still in complete ignorance, in his anxiety to minimize some evil 
he had to tell. 

“ But what is ? What is ? Do for Heaven’s sake, dear Padrone, 
tell me all about it.” This is a name I used to call him by. WTien 
it began I forget. 

“ I wrote a long letter to Milan to tell you all about it. You 
recollect those papers you sent me — the Dumfries and Kincard- 
ineshire Bank smash? Well! It appears that poor Thorpe was 
one of three Trustees for a large sum in Bank Shares. He had 
completely forgotten it or never knew it. The dividends were 
regularly paid into a Bank. The other Trustees died — one in 
Stepney Workhouse infirmary ; the other I believe was a Mis- 
sionary on the Niger, and a tribe he was converting dined off him. 
Anyhow, the matter wasn’t properly looked after. And so it went 
on for thirty years. An Archdeacon’s widow, who was the party 
concerned, received her dividends and asked no questions. And 
there were the shares still standing in the names of the three, 
Thorpe being the only survivor, and the estates of the others niV* 

“ But the upshot. Padrone, the upshot ? The Doctor never can 
he held liable for this money I ” 

“ I’m afraid ! ” said Mr. Spencer. “ I’m afraid 1 ” And hav- 
ing made his communication, my father-in-law retired into his 
shell of caution, and would say little more on the subject. 

“What’s all this. Doctor, about the Dumfries Bank?” was my 
first question to Dr. Thorpe next day, asked as early as I could 
get to him to ask it, a short preliminary for greeting being dis- 
counted. 

“Money matters, Joe, money matters,” said he. “Money mat- 
ters dorit matter. Don’t let you and me fret about them.” 

“ But how much money is it that doesn’t matter in this case ? ” 

“Never mind, Joe. It will be all right in the end. How did 
you leave the Poet ? ” 

“ Oh, hang the Poet I At least, I hope he’s all right. Of course 
I’ve heard nothing of him for three weeks. But how much is 
the money? Do tell me about it. Doctor.” 

And thus urged he told me all about it. It was fifteen thou- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


427 


Band pounds, neither more nor less, for which the failure of this 
Bank had made him legally liable. It was money held in trust 
for a relation, under a marriage settlement he had protested against 
being forced into when he was quite a young man. He had 
been under the impression for some twenty years past that the 
I Trust was wound up; and had any change in the disposition 
i of tlie funds been made he must have known, as his signature 
I would have been required. But the dividends had calmly found 
' their way to Coutts’s through all that long time, and the lady who 
I was their lawful owner had received them and promoted Chris- 
I tianity among the Jews with them, and restored some old churches 
to a condition they had never been in before. For a long time 
past there had been (so said prophecy post actum) suspicions that 
the Bank was shaky; and now all that everybody would have 
said, had he spoken out the secrets of his prophetic heart, had 
come exactly as he so considerately refrained from saying it, and 
the Bank had suddenly gone smash. The worst of it was that 
the Doctor was liable as a shareholder in the Bank, and the 
liability was not limited. Had he only had to settle with his 
cestui qui trusts it would have been easier; but he and his fellow 
shareholders had to face the liabilities, and, to be brief, the Doctor 
was Bankrupt. 

“ I don’t blame anybody, Joe,” said he, except my family, who 
took their part in flailing and thwacking and drubbing and hoot- 
ing a young man of my then age, five-and-thirty years ago, into 
a position he did not understand the rights of, and for which he 
was totally unfitted. I simply acquiesced in what seemed to me 
then a mere formality, a kind of good-natured courtesy to a rela- 
tive. I had no idea I was going security for anything, and I 
soon forgot all about it. I haven’t, for twenty years certainly, 
been asked to sign any document which would remind me this 
Trust existed. In fact, I thought the whole thing had come to 
an end long ago. The last document I signed probably was a 
request to pay all dividends into my cousin’s account at Coutts’s. 
The other two trustees seem to have died and made no sign — 
probably they too had forgotten all about it. Spencer says the 
legalities were improperly managed. Very likely! They often 
are. But that’s no consolation. What does it matter to me whether 
those Joint-Stock Bank Shares were a permissible investment 
under the settlement? It comes to the same thing in the end. 
I am the sole holder of fifteen hundred ten-pound shares in a 
smashed Bank, and am liable for my share of its creditors’ claims, 
and also for the fund I had in Trust to its actual owner. Spen- 


428 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


cer says I shall have my claim as a shareholder as well as my 
liability. But that is a will-of-the-wisp ! Take your hands out 
of your sleeves and open your lips and donT glare, dear old Joe. 
It doesn’t really matter. All will come right in the end.” 

I suppose the Doctor’s stage-direction to me applied to what 
an Italian would have called an analogous attitude on my part, as 
I sat facing him in his old chair that turned on its axis. I 
transferred each hand to its breeches pocket, suppressed the glare, 
and spoke. 

“ What is the end ? The Bankruptcy Court ? ” 

I believe I shall have to attend at that Court and make affi- 
davits. And Poplar Villa will be put up for sale. Probably 
Nolly and Vi and Loss will buy it and its contents and let 
me remain on as a caretaker. I wonder if the court compels sale 
by Auction — blest if I know ! ” And the Doctor took a very long 
pinch, and seemed to enjoy both it and his prospects. 

But,” he went on, thafs not the end I was referring to. — 
When that will come I don’t know. Probably all will be much 
Tighter than anything we can im.agine within a reasonable time, 
say a million years. Then we can settle down comfortably to the 
enjoyment of Eternity.” 

“ All right, Doctor. But what do the others say about it ? ” 

Vi lays claim to having predicted it. But she doesn’t appear 
to be quite clear about the circumstances. She regards it as a 
moral lesson to people that don't have marriage settlements. Nolly 
looks forward with professional zest to getting me a first-class 
certificate, and then placing his whole income at my disposal. 
His wife Maisie opens her eyes as wide as Portland Place and 
says why not? She can always find time to sign cheques, she 
says, and Nolly can always go to her for money. She’s given 
him a book full of signed cheques to anticipate demands, and is 
under the impression that if he overdraws he can write a cheque 
for the amount and send it to the Banker.” 

^^Bony knew nothing about this.” 

Why should he, if he didn’t happen to see Spencer ? ” 

Isn’t Aunt Izzy dreadfully upset ? ” 

She is. I think she knows something has gone wrong about 
money, and is much concerned. But what she thinks it is, I don’t 
know. Nor does Nolly. You know Nolly and his wife are com- 
ing to-night?” 

I didn’t, but they were, and came. Also Aunt Izzy appeared 
in due course, and we went in to dinner. Nolly’s wife Maisie 
rather justified the way some of their friends described them 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


429 


as Nolly and Dolly. One had an impression that, if one could 
devise a plausible pretext for the search, one might find the end 
of a wire somewhere, which would open and shut her eyes. She 
kept up her old intimacy with Jeannie, and was Aunt Maisie 
at Cheyne Row. Little Elixie had christened her most porten- 
tous daughter after her, a daughter whose legs were waxen half- 
Wellingtons, pulled on to a core with a strange flavour, and 
Bony and I used to laugh about the likeness. 

It was after dinner and had come to real home-grown peaches 
off the end wall of the garden, when Aunt Izzy became invested 
with her old dim genteel remote air, noticed by Lossie, and thus 
addressed her brother across the table. 

“ I^m sure, Randall, you must recollect our second cousin Sarah 
Carmichael- Jackson, that married Archdeacon Threlfall of Hales- 
wick in Somersetshire. Not Kate Carmichael- Jackson. She had 
a hare-lip and never married, but Sarah.” 

The Doctor assented to Sarah, and Aunt Izzy proceeded. Well, 
dear, I’m afraid she lost a great deal of money, because I re- 
member when I was a girl there was always a botheration about 
her settlement money, and I remember it was all put in the Dum- 
fries and Kincardineshire Bank, and now the newspaper says a 
Dumfries and Kincardineshire Bank has smashed up. Sarah was 
a rather bony girl with a slight limp, and they say she had a 
short temper and led the Archdeacon a life. But her cousin Lady 
Penelope Carmichael- Jackson, etc., etc., etc.” 

And Aunt Izzy broke loose among the well-connected, and had 
a high old time. The Doctor didn’t interrupt her. ^^I’ll try to 
explain to-morrow,” said he. “ I shall have to write her a letter 
under her eyes.” 

Memory cheats me now, and slips away. I cannot bring her 
to book. This is almost twenty-five years ago, remember I Then 
how come I to recollect all the incidents I am narrating? The 
answer is that I don’t, if you mean remember every word, every 
gesture; every thought of my own, every cough of my neighbour. 
No part in my tale is quite true in that sense. But then none 
is false. I recollect the substance by gusts, and the above visit 
at the Doctor’s was a gust that blew steadily. 

After this the puffs of wind are very intermittent and only 
now and then raise a ripple on the surface of the puddle. The 
surface is but little ruffled until the return of Lossie, who with 
her husband got to Rome in the October following, and remained 
there over Christmas. They then took a villa near Sorrento, and 


430 


JOSEPH VANCE 


being kept reassured about the Doctor’s affairs by carefully writ-j 
ten letters, were persuaded not to risk exposure to the north and ^ 
to remain at Sorrento till the following April. ' 

Now anybody would have thought Beppino would have rushed 
south to meet his sister. But he didn’t. He wrote her most j 
affectionate letters, which delighted her, many of which she sent I 
on to me, to show me what a darling the Poet was, and how 
true and affectionate. But though he was always going next week, 
he never went until the ensuing Easter, when he contrived to 
interfere with a visit of Lossie to Florence by taking it into his » 
head that he ought to see Rome at Easter in the interest of ] 

Art. He wrote to her at this time: ‘^For I, so I say, am a | 

Poet. Roman nature, behoves that I know it.” And he cer- 1 
tainly went to Rome, and Lossie and her husband and children | 
met him there, and stayed on to be with him. But it made 1 
them so late that Sir Hugh could not possibly stop on for 
Florence; and Lossie did not care to go alone, and also was 
anxious to be with her F ather again as soon as the spring was 

warm enough for the children. This seems trivial detail, but 

has a bearing on my story. It is quite possible that had Los- 
sie gone to Florence, some doings of Master Beppino’s there would 
have come out which would have seriously affected the current 
of events. As it was, the whole party arrived early in May at 
Charing Cross Station, where I met them, and Lossie cried over 
me in the station without disguise. I can feel her arms round 
my neck still, and Hugh’s great strong hand that took mine 
and trembled as he pressed it; and the same face, grayer now, ' 
that I had seen in the mirror at Oxford, with the same look 
on it. “ Oh, my poor boy ! — ^my poor boy ! ” cried Lossie. All ' 
alone ! ” 

But no! Now I come to think of it, she did not say the last 
two words. Yet she and I thought them in such unison that it 
came to the same thing. 


CHAPTER XLVI 


LOSSIB — SHB HAS NO PATIENCE WITH DR. THORPE’s VICTIM. BEPPINO 
I AND MISS FULLER PERCEVAL. A MYSTERIOUS LETTER FROM FLOR- 
j INCE. BEPPINO^S EXPLANATION. THE CENOTAPH IN PORTUGAL, 
JOE CARRIES THE TURK PAST THE DOCTOR’S LIBRARY DOOR. O GRAVB I 
I WHERE IS THY VICTORY? 

: That was a strong ripple of the Memory pool. The next one 
ibrings back a talk with Lossie in the old garden at Poplar Villa. 
It is a perfect evening in June, and dinner is to be ever so 
late, please, that we may not lose the sunset. And we are not 
losing it. We have been watering the plants, and the smell of 
!the water is sweet in the great heat, and mixes with the scent 
of the new-mown hay. And the rhythmic ring of the scythe of 
Samuel, growing ever thinner and thinner, sings the song I 
iknow so well, about a little boy who picked stewing pears in 
that tree; and about a many things that shall be, long years 
after, fresh in that boy’s grown-up mind, and not all forgotten, 
as I think, by Lossie. 

But of course I cannot guess how much of those early days 
I she remembers now, in that Florence she failed to visit then, 
where most likely she will, as the phrase is, end her days. On 
that June evening she remembered a good deal and talked about it. 

Well now,” said she, “ you are an oblivious old Joe. You 
don’t mean to say you’ve forgotten thatV’ 

“ Forgotten what ? ” 

^‘Kiss your uncle Joe, Poppy, and call him an old slow-coach. 
Why, of course, when Nolly lost his pet snake, and you and he 
went all along the road asking about it at every house. And 
old Mr. Tremlett went round and complained to the Police.” Poppy 
1 was the little girl. She dutifully obeyed her mamma, and her 
1 uncle Joe can still shut his eyes and thinlv of it with pleasure. 
I She called me an Oat-oat-oats. 

' Of course I recollect that. Loss,” said I. “ Old Mr. Tremlett’s 
flute wouldn’t blow next day, and when he took the top joint off, 
the snake’s head stuck out and waggled, and wouldn’t hold still for 
him to get it on again. He came round here wild with terror, and 
Noll and I went back with him and captured the serpent” 

431 


432 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Oh, dear — the heat ! ’’ said Lossie. IPs as hot as India ! ” i 
Come I say. Loss ! Draw it mild ! 

“ Well — as hot as India when the thermometer’s the same, j 
No ! It’s worse. At least, it’s worse in London. The air’s so stuffy. ! 
Don’t let Miss Desprez quite choke you. You dear, good, patient I 
uncle Joe! Leave off kissing your uncle. Poppy! it’s too hot and 
sticky for anything. Come off ! ” And Lossie rescued me from 
her daughter’s clutches, and sat down opposite me on some of the 
hay-crop. She sat there, just like her old self, filled out and ; 
rounded, with her hands round her knees like the schoolgirl of I 
twenty years ago. There was the hair-bracelet just as formerly, i 
but fitting a little tighter. 

How nice it is,” said she, that we’ve still got the V ilia. ; 
Just think what it might have been if we hadn’t all been so I 
rich. Fancy an auction at Poplar Villa.” It was a gruesome • 
idea, and we shuddered. “ But that’s all safe, at any rate. Hugh j 
says it’s all right, because poor old Lord Fitzbroughton is sure ! 
to die long before the Bank affairs culminate. And you 
know when that happens Hugh will come into a lot of 
property, though he won’t have the title. I’m glad of that, but 
sorry we shan’t get the old place— Stoats-Leaze, you know. It’s 
just like Chesney Wold, and I should have liked it. But I don’t 
imderstand the details about the Bank.” 

The details are easy enough. Don’t you see it’s like this ” 

Go on and tell — only don’t say assets and liabilities, or debit 
and credit, because I never know which is which. Yes, my precious 
pet! You shall go to sleep on Mamma, and squeeze up. Only 
you really ought to be in bed, ducky ! ” And Poppy’s mamma let 
her knees go, and accommodated the applicant. 

^'All right. Loss! It’s very simple. The creditors are to find 
out how much can be screwed out of the Doctor, and we four 
have guaranteed the amount. We shan’t have to square up till 
the shareholders have done wrangling. Hugh wants to pay my 
share. But I can’t be kept out of it and Maisie’s father get in 
— if I know it! The Doctor was always like my father — one of 
my fathers, I should say.” 

The grave gaze of Lossie’s eyes as she sat there in the sunset 
light, with the stray uncontrollable lock of hair stirring in the 
sunset wind, reflected, I know, what the recollection of my own 
Father showed in mine. 

^‘Poor dear old Joe,” said she, after a moment’s silence. And 
then resumed the conversation reflectively : 

He was a good, creditable old Earl to behave like that. You 


JOSEPH VANCE 


43S 


know I was here the day he came. Of course Papa said it was 
quite impossible at first. But the old boy was so urgent, saying 
that all his property was no use to him if he was to be made 
I miserable for life — and he certainly would if Dr. Thorpe, whom 
he had revered all the thoughtful half of his life, was put up 
to auction. So, as I understand, Nolly isnT to be allowed to 
contribute, as a set-off. Wake up, Popsy darling! She ought to 
be in bed by now, it’s so late. You may carry her up to Nurse, 
dear Joe, for a treat, if you like. She won’t wake, I know. Nurse 
will put her to bed without waking her. She did the other night.” 

Why not let well alone ? She’s sleeping like a top. What more 
can you have? The others will be back soon.” For the two elder 
ones and a couple of cousins who were staying here with Aunt 
Vi had gone to an afternoon party with that aunt as guardian. 
Let’s keep her till they come back. She’s such a treat.” 
i “ Yes — they’re delicious when they’re asleep. But when they’re 
awake, they’re Turks.” So the Turk slept on; now and then, 
as I judged by a movement of her lips, kissing some other Turk 
in a dream. 

Pm afraid Papa is miserable about that detestable Mrs. Threl- 
fall and her money. Oh no, Joe, it’s no use trying to make 
me sorry for her. I’ve no patience with people of that sort I ” 

I admit that she might have been nicer about it. But it was 
no fault of hers. The fault was in the blessed system of making 
every one a Trustee, whether or no. However, if the Bank pays 
ten shillings in the pound she’ll get back half her money.” 

‘^But that won’t make Papa’s mind easy. He frets about it 
dreadfully. I’m sure that attack he had on Thursday was caused 
by that horrible letter of hers. ‘ Preying on the widow and the 
fatherless,’ indeed! It’s her own fault if she’s a widow — she wor- 
ried that poor little pot-bellied Archdeacon into his grave. And 
as for fatherless, when one’s father is seventy-three when one’s 
born, and one is sixty-eight oneself, how old would one’s father be 
if he hadn’t swallowed a cork that blew into his throat out of 
a soda-water bottle at seventy-five, when one was two? Do the 
sum, Joe ! ” 

Sixty and seventy’s a hundred and thirty. Six and five’s 
eleven. A hundred and forty-one. But most likely she was re- 
ferring to her own children as the swindled orphans.” 

« glie — children ! She never had any. Couldn’t have ! She 
might have had rocking-horses, or packing-cases ; but she couldn’t 
have had children. My precious ! ” Popsy had, I presume, kissed 
a Turk. 


434 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“ I wish I had been here when the Doctor had that attack on 
Thursday. I canT make out if it was more or less than the 
one I saw before I went to Italy.’’ 

“ Pm afraid he was in great pain. I only came in just as 
he was coming round. But that detestable woman’s letter was 
on the table and I know it was that brought it on.” 1 

Then I’m afraid it was worse. I wish something very pleasant 
would come about to counteract.” I 

Well, you know, if this affair of Beppino and Miss Fuller 
Perceval comes to anything, that will be something pleasant.” For 
when Beppino returned with them in April, he had recommenced 
his attentions to Park Lane, with the additional advantage of 
his devotion having survived seven months’ separation. He was 
getting a good deal of credit for this, especially with Lossie. 

Fancy,” said she, “ the dear child out there by himself pining 
for his love!” Fancy, indeed! It appeared (shortly after his 
return) that he had a year previously offered his hand and heart 
to the heiress, and had made official application to the father. The 
latter had suggested that as his daughter was young, the genuine- : 
ness of her sentiments should be tested by separation; and that 
a winter in Italy would not do the Poet any harm. This ac- 
counted for Beppino’s readiness to go away with me — ^my pro- 
posal to take him was fortuitous, rather singularly so. He had 
corresponded intermittently with his adored Sibyl during the whole 
of his exile; but I suspect had engineered his desire to go to 
his sister at Sorrento as an excuse for delaying his return some- 
what beyond date. There did not, however, seem to have been 
any doubt in her father’s mind about his constancy. Perhaps 
a well-grounded faith in thousands a year prospective, and a hand- 
some allowance down, contributed to this. 

As this is not really a narrative, and it is an easement to 
me to be disjointed, I will interleave an incident of Beppino’s re- 
turn, before I resume my conversation with Lossie in the garden. 

Just after the party started from Borne to return to London, 
meaning to stop a day in Paris by the way, a letter came to Poplar 
Villa addressed thus, and bearing the Florence postmark: 


Illmo: Signore 

Signor Giuseppe Vance 
Villa Thorpe 

Balhamm Inghilterra 



JOSEPH VANCE 


435 


I naturally supposed this to be intended for me, and brought 
it away in my pocket. When I opened it, I was amazed to find 
a passionate love-letter, written in very Tuscan Italian, and signed 
•fino al tuo Bramatissimo ritorno la tua addoloratissima Annuncia- 
tina. It began “ Adoratissimo mio Beppino,” and I had only to 
glance at the first and last words to see that it was not meant 
for me. A moments further thought connected it with Beppino’s 
involuntary adoption of my name. He had been at some folly, 

1 or wickedness; and some Italian girl had been duped or vic- 
timized by him. That was clear. But a natural reluctance to 
read another personas letter prevented my making myself master 
of its contents, as I might have done. I enclosed the letter back 
to him at once, and was free from further temptation to look 
‘ at it. I determined, however, to speak to him about it, and tell him 
that (though I had not read it) what I had been unable to avoid 
' seeing would reflect on him unless he could furnish some explana- 
tion. He anticipated me in this, speaking about it without em- 
barrassment; but nevertheless (I thought I noticed) choosing a 
moment to do so, when we were alone, and not likely to be 
interrupted. His explanation was as follows: He was writing 
a novel, in which he had to supply love-letters in Italian, writ- 
ten by a girl whose husband or lover had deserted her. Although 
he had acquired some Italian during his stay in Florence, still 
he was not able to manage the letters without help, and he asked 
a lady whom he had recently met, who was half English, half 
Italian, to write him one or two samples. He had roughed one 
out in English and left it with her to translate for him, and 
for a joke had addressed it to himself; and she for another joke 
had signed her own name to the translation. Annunciatina Torna- 
buoni was her name (but her mother had been an Englishwoman), 
and she was married to an eminent Italian awocato. “You 
wouldn’t suspect Signora Tornabuoni of writing me a real love- 
letter if you saw her,” said Beppino. “Her daughter might — 
only not very likely, as she’s just going to be married to a man 
named Draper.” It appeared very plausible, especially when 
Beppino produced a sheet of MS. of his novel containing 
an English version of the Italian letter, and showed the letter 
itself for me to compare the two. “But I say, Juvence,” 
said he, “I know you’ll be a dear good filler, and not say 
a word to any one, not even to Lossie, about the novel. I do 
so want to keep it a secret till it’s finished.” This supplied a 
reason for his confidential way of speaking to me, and I was 
quite taken in at the time, and indeed felt that I had done 


436 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Beppino injustice. I had no idea she would write off so promptly,’* 
said he, “or I would have taken care to impress upon her that 
she really must direct to me by my real name. Of course if 
I had been here it wouldn’t have mattered. He had been say- 
ing a good deal about the absurd way in which Vance had been 
accepted and Thorpe rejected by his Florentine friends. So this 
seemed plausible, too. I will now go back to Lossie, whom I 
have left in the garden. 

“ That will be something nice,” said she. “ And he is so good, 
and always has been. And he seems completely devoted to her, 
and she to him.” Lossie was looking at the sleeping Turk, luck- 
ily. So I had not to keep my countenance in check under diffi- 
culties. Perhaps if she had looked up at me I might still have 
succeeded in doing so, by recalling the Lossie of old, on that very 
grass-patch, and little Joey just the age of the Turk, three-and- 
twenty years ago. The image came to me in time to hearten 
me up to say something, I forget what, in praise of the Beppino 
he had changed into. 

“ But why did you say. Loss,” I continued, “ if it comes to 
anything? — I was regarding it as settled.” 

“ Oh — I only meant that there are so many slips between the 
cup and the lip. Of course it is as good as settled. They’ll be 
disgustingly rich, like me and Hugh. I think it is too bad, 
dear old boy! You’re the only one of us that isn’t as rich as 
Orcesus.” And Lossie looked up from the absorbing Turk, and 
met my eyes, that said, “ What should I do with all the gold, if 
I had it ? ” I had never a word to say, and said none. “ Oh, poor 
J oe — poor old J oe,” said she. “ How one is always in want 
of Papa to say it will be all right in the end ! ” I recovered my 
voice. “ It must be either all right, or we be all nothing. That 
won’t hurt us! Just think what a lot of people are not in exist- 
ence at all and never have been; and are absolutely, serenely 
happy! They are not in a position to give three cheers for non- 
existence, or I have no doubt they would.” But in spite of this 
absurd metaphysical excursion, I felt I wanted Dr. Thorpe’s re- 
frain, or the chord of the Waldstein. Lossie took no notice of 
my nonsense. She paused as I thought to nip tears in the hud; 
and then harked back, taking my unspoken speech for granted. 

“ What would you have done with it, I wonder ? ” 

“I’ve made up my mind what I shall do with Janey’s settlement 
money— and Mr. Spencer quite agrees. I shall give it all to life- 
boats — every penny.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


437 


But then how about the ” 

The thing on the promontory ? For Lossie had hung fire 
over a column of marble I had told her I meant to place on the 
coast at San Joaquim. “ I can manage that well enough/^ 

Joe dear! Before you settle it, do think about what I said. 
Make it twice as big and let me pay half, and only put my 
name in small in a corner — somewhere in a corner. It would 
make me so happy. Just think, Joe! IPs over twenty years now 
since you were The Boy, and I showed you and Joey the black 
men perishing by thousands, you remember ? ” 

‘‘Bather. Especially because we never saw the black men, and 
Pve felt sore about it ever since.’^ 

“Never mind! We’ll find them. They must be in the house, 
and Poppy shall show us them. Won’t you, my precious darling? 
But, dear Joe, you will think about what I say, and let me in.” 

“I don’t think Janey will mind.” A passing puzzle crossed 
Lossie’s face. 

“ No — dear boy — I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded.” But I 
was obstinate. “ I’m sure she won’t mind,” said I, and I looked 
her full in the face. 

“ Oh dear ! ” said she, with a sort of gasp. “ How happy one 
could be if you and Papa were right!” For Lossie knew her 
Father’s ideas; and that I to a great extent shared them; saw 
(so to speak) the sea he swam in, but dared not plunge in her- 
self. I am not sure that she believed he was really afloat. She 
had once asked me if I didn’t think his notion about the Ghost 
in the Corpse might not really be a mere re-echoing of the 
religious teaching of his childhood. 

“ May he not have thought St. Paul really meant what he said ? ” 
said she. “ And may not that, and his own firm belief in the Kesur- 
rection of our Lord, have produced the sort of physical impression 
he speaks of, of being an Ego in a bottle? I think that’s how he 
put it.” And I had replied to this that the impression was still 
stronger in Janey, who had certainly not had a religious teach- 
ing like Dr. Thorpe’s in her childhood. She had been brought 
up by a mother who erased whatever she thought nonsense from 
the Evangelists — leaving only plain, honest, straightforward com- 
mon sense — and a father whose constant critical analysis naturally 
trained his children to regard revelation as a curious open ques- 
tion. Yet Janey’s last words to me as the darkness closed over 
us, and left me to hold an unresponsive hand with the last of 
my failing strength, were spoken with confidence — not the con- 
fidence of mustered faith that rallies for a battle with doubt, 


4S8 


JOSEPH VANCE 


but an easy certainty of a thing to be. However, I am travelling 
too far away from that garden. 

“You know,” I replied to Lossie’s last remark, “I always feel 
the Conditional Mood is disloyal to Janey, when she herself was 
so clear about it. So I prefer the Indicative. I have got to think 
tliat way. It is she and the Doctor have made me ” 

“Very well, dear Joe, it shall be your way. Janey won’t mind 
if you do. So you’ll let me — let us — go halves in the column. 
You’ve got the ground?” 

“I wrote to the abadia, and got a letter in Portuguese. You 
wouldn’t be any the wiser if I showed it you. But I know 
what’s in it. They can’t give up the fee-simple of any of their 
land, but I may put up the column almost anywhere I choose, 
and it will be safe from molestation. They will take charge of 
it. The letter says ‘nothing changes here. The sea rolls, and 
the ships pass, but nothing changes. The Senhor may rest secure.’ 
So it shall be as you wish, Lossie dear! That sounds like a 
dinner-warning. May I carry Popsy?” 

I might, and I carriecj that unconscious scrap of soft, deep sleep 
into the house. I remember this all so well, as well I may! We 
go into the house up the little flight of stone steps that sticks 
out sideways from the wall, and Lossie says take care of her 
head. And I take care of her head. Then in the passage we 
are met by a tempest of older babies, just returning from the 
party. They hang on me and make me apprehensive about her 
head. Vi says she wouldn’t trust her with me if she was Lossie. 
We pass the library door, as Anne, the nurse, says Master has 
gone to his room. But the tempest surges up the stairs, and 
I convey the Turk safely to her couch, still sleeping profoundly. 
As we pass the Doctor’s dressing-room, I notice that the door is 
on the jar. He may have soon finished his slight preparations for 
dinner and be downstairs all the time. But then why did he never 
come out, with all that racket of excited children in the passage? 
It was not like him to let them pass up to bed unkissed. The 
two mothers are too much behind time for anything but immediate 
promptitude in dressing, and I don’t fancy what occurs to me 
crosses the mind of any one else. He may be ill, in the Library. 

They disperse to their rooms, and then I go down to the Library 
to see. No sound comes from the room to allay my anxiety, and 
I haK lack courage to open the door. But he may be asleep. 

I say, “It’s dinner time. Doctor,” but I hear misgiving in my 
own voice. No answer comes, and I pass in. 

The Doctor is sitting in his old chair, where I sat on his 


JOSEPH VANCE 


439 


knee and did Euclid. His head rests on his hand^ and when I 
speak he does not move. I touch him and feel something amiss, 
and still he does not move. I go out, closing the door with absurd 
gentleness as if he slept. A servant is within call, whom I send 
at once for medical assistance. Then I go upstairs again, and 
knock at Lossless door. She thinks it is shoes, and says put them 
down outside. I reply, IPs me — J oe. I want you,” and she 
opens the door, pulling on a dressing-gown with a scared face. 
She sees half of it at once. Then Papa’s ill,” she says. I 
say yes, and we go down to the Library. She goes up to the 
motionless figure on the chair, as I had done, and lays one hand 
on its shoulder, and says, “ Papa.” And then again, “ Papa dear.” 
But there is no movement, and she lays her free hand on the hand 
that I can see even in the dusk is too white — and starts back with 
a cry, and I prevent her falling. 

There is a step behind us, and it is her husband — am not 
quite unconscious of a kind of relief at the presence of the great 
strong man that has seen so many die. He takes Lossie from me, 
and I go upstairs to tell Vi — breaking it by a fiction of a dan- 
gerous attack — and to prevent the children knowing! Time enough 
for that next day! I remember every detail. 

It is too late — even for injections of morphia — ^but it is as well 
to try. Trying only confirms its uselessness, and nothing is left 
for us now but the miserable activities that drag so heavily on 
the hearts of survivors. And then we say, and try to believe, 
that it is good to have to exert oneself. We all do so, except 
Violet, who breaks down. She is not a strong character, like her 
sister, who after the first shock is white, but resolute. Many things 
have to be done, and done promptly, and I stay on till late into 
the night. Then at last Lossie is prevailed upon to go to bed. She 
dares not go to sleep, she says, for fear of waking. Hugh and 
I look at the sleeping children for a respite, and then I go away 
towards the dawn, just breaking over London. 

I do not care to accept the offer of a four-wheeler cab to take 
me, slower than I could walk, to a place I do not want to go 
to, for a sum the driver knows I should be ashamed to pay him 
at the end of the trip. I shun its damp and mouldy inner life, 
its incapable lurching, its windows that will neither come up 
nor stop up, its wqe-begone one-horse power! I walk on through 
the sweetness of the morning, and think if the Spirit released 
from the Body were given a chance to return, what choice would 
it make? Would it shrink, as I did from that cab, and drink in 
the ether of a new life, as I drank in the smell of the new- 


440 


JOSEPH VANCE 


mown hay* And I walk on in a strange state of mind that I 
can only describe as wondering if my fixed belief is really true. 
True or false, it was Janey and the Doctor had made it. 

In a few days I was looking down into a new-made grave at 
a brass plate on which was the inscription “ Kandall Thorpe — Bom 
1800, died 1874.” And I said to Hugh as we walked together from 
the Cemetery, preferring to discard the black coaches, ‘‘He was 
to me all a father could be, and more than most fathers are to 
any son.” But the memory of my dear old Daddy was none the 
less in my mind, that I was able to think thus of my beloved 
old friend. 

And then as the undertakers died away to the beer-shop, and 
left “O Death, where is thy sting? O Grave, where is thy vic- 
tory?” to speak for itself, his own words, like the Chord in the 
Waldstein, rang in my mind again and again, “Leave it all in 
God’s hands. All will be right in the end.” And when Hugh 
and I got home, we found that Violet had been much dissatisfied 
with “the way things had beeii done” and implied that such 
miscarriage was due to some conspiracy of Atheists, not specified 
by name, but rampant. 


CHAPTEK XLVn 


JOE^S ABSENCE FROM BEPPINO’s WEDDING. VULQARITy. BANALITY. AN- 
OTHER LETTER FROM FLORENCE. JEANNIE DETECTS A FAINT SMELL 
OF A DEVIL. BUT BEPPINO GETS HIS LETTER. 

If I were to note that Beppino married his heiress in due course, 
I should have done all that is needed for consecutiveness. As to 
why I did not go to his wedding, it was ostensibly because I 
was compelled to go over to Paris on business the day before; but 
actually for reasons which shall appear after I have stirred up 
my Memory puddle to see if anything comes to the surface about 
that expensive ceremonial. I don’t know whether the intense 
absence of Vulgarity, or the price of the Orchids, has the first 
place in my recollection. The latter were at very high quota- 
tions; but I think the reason I recollect them, is because Lossie 
alluded to the pain it would give to be cauterized for one if 
you had it on the tip of your nose. She and I sympathized over 
Orchids, or rather antipathized in chorus. We were in a minority, 
and indeed hardly accounted worthy of scorn. 

I realized during the period in which I looked forward to wit- 
nessing the wedding, that I was about to be inducted into a higher 
and purer atmosphere. The absence of vulgarity was anticipated 
and insisted on with denunciatory vigor; and I always felt when 
this was done in my presence that I was being pointed out as a 
painful example. I might be improved by my incidental hoist 
up Olympus, but should certainly backslide when let alone. It 
was no small consolation that Lossie was my companion in de- 
pravity — she being really as bad as myself. However, we could al- 
ways admire prices, so Beppino told us about them that we might 
not be out in the cold. But he spoke over our heads to our superiors 
about the exquisite subtlety of the design of the Venetian lace 
Sibyl was to wear, adding details of date in an undertone for them, 
not for us. We received as little quarter in Art matters from Bep- 
pino as we did in religious ones from Violet. Beasons why, for 
this, were quite beyond my grasp. I don’t know what either of us 
had done to provoke it. 

Well then I — although I did not go to the wedding, Beppino 

441 


442 


JOSEPH VANCE 


and Sibyl were married. The affair came off in Somersetshire I 
at Parrettsdown, where Mr. Puller PercevaPs country house was, j 
in a Parish Church, which, though not large, is a perfect speci- j 
men of Tudor — at least it was then; but it has been judiciously j 
restored since, I believe. They enjoyed the advantages of a full 
Choral Service, and of absence from Hanover Square. The wed- 
ding was implied to have scored heavily by not being at St. | 
George’s — it was even suggested that it took place in the country 
in order to avoid that saint. A good deal of trouble was always I 
being tal^en to dodge banality. But when turned out at the 
door it came in at the window. I believe the Orchids were a 
case in point, being denounced as banal by an opposition bride, 
who flatly refused to have anything to say to Orchids and would 
have nothing but roses all through. If you search among the 
new varieties of Floriculture that appeared about ’73, I think you 
will find a rose called the Barclay Bellasys, and an orchid called ! 
the Fuller Perceval. I saw the latter — it was like a lobster-claw 
hooked by its point to a gangrene. Both were christened as results 
of these weddings. 

But Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Thorpe’s orchids have nothing to do 
with my story? No, they haven’t. But banality has, indirectly. 
For when Italy was proposed for their wedding-tour, Beppino arose 
and denounced that land of Cook’s tourists as quite out of date. 

Good Ged,” he exclaimed, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage — Sam 
Rogers — oh law ! ” And Miss Sibyl had joined chorus — ^having 
evidently had the proper attitude indicated to her. It did not 
matter to the family whether the happy turtle doves went to 
Florence or Avignon, which was the final choice. Mr. Fuller Per- 
ceval was not in a position, owing to his life having been passed 
at meets of hounds, and in shooting over properties, varied with 
the curious interlude of being a Warming Pan in the House, to 
dispute his daughter’s authority on belles lettres, beaux Arts, and 
so forth. So when ho began, apropos of Florence, But I thought 

Ruskin ” he was stopped by an appearance of amused despair 

on Sibyl’s face; and two outstretched, out-thrown hands, surren- 
dering all points, but appealing as it were to Heaven and the 
public to state a case for some other court. ‘‘Really — dear Papa 
—Ruskin ! ” said she. Beppino turned round appealingly to me 
with a smile of pity and the slightest shrug. For I was dining 
at the Park Lane palace by invitation — the only time I ever was 
in the house, by the way! — and had put my foot in the Arts, 
the Chace, and Political Life, all the evening. Beppino only 
gave me half his shrug, remembering in time what an Ishmael 


JOSEPH VANCE 


443 


I was; and passed on the remainder to a poor accidental gentle- 
man who had somehow got asked by mistake ; and who was so 
glad to be allowed inside the conversation that he became quite 
vociferous. 

So it was decided that Florence was banal and Cook’s-tourist 
— a new adjective — but that Avignon wasn’t; at least not yet! 
It would be very soon, but we could go there for a little. 

Now if all this had happened in the beginning of next century 
(how near it is now to the end of the nineteenth!) — it would 
have been quite, as I anticipated, in harmony with the accepted. 
Happening over twenty-five years ago, it shows how hard Beppino 
and his fiancee were to get abreast of. They were indeed advanced. 

I was living at my own house now, as I had made the effort 
and gone back again after taxing Bony and his wife to the 
utmost pitch (so it seemed to me) of human patience. My step- 
mother had gone to her family at the farm in Worcestershire. 
It would have been more convenient to me to go into chambers, 
but I could not bear the idea of moving anything Janey had 
left. Lossie and her husband and babies and her foreign retinue 
would have used the house readily, and I should have liked it; 
but then how about Poplar Villa, to which she clung as much 
as I did to my own home? Or rather, I should say, from dis- 
mantling which she shrank as much. I admitted to myself when 
I had made the change, that it really mattered very little where 
one was — for the rest of the time. That was the way I put it. 
The time has been, exactly reckoned, twenty-seven years. How 
long will it have been at the end of it ? 

When I got home from Park Lane very late that night, which 
was in the spring not very long before Beppino’s wedding, I 
found a heap of letters awaiting me. I was very sleepy, and very 
ill-humoured as one sometimes is after an ill-chosen dining-out. 
I had drunk the best of champagne, had smoked a priceless cigar, 
had kept up a lying pretence that though I wasn’t in the confidence 
of Pall Mall and Downing Street, there was no particular reason 
why I shouldn’t be, and had been ungrateful and beaten my host 
at billiards in the small hours of the morning. But as soon as 
I got away, I felt I had been a round man in a square hole or 
vice versa; and resolved I wouldn’t have any more to do with 
Park Lane, or Park anything. Then I called myself a cur- 
mudgeon, and acknowledged that it was no fault of my hosts. 
After all, they could not be worldly at heart, or they never would 
have consented to this marriage. Then I bolted the top and bot- 
•iom bolt, and put up the chain^ and carried my letters up into 


444 


JOSEPH VANCE 


the back drawing-room, where I kept all my writing traps be- ! 
cause Janey had hers there; alid sat down at her own writing- | 
table and turned up the gas. 

^ Hullo ! It was I said this to myself. “ Who^s writing to | 
me with the Florence postmark? And why to Poplar Villa? ” For . 
it had gone there, and been directed on by Lossie. “Why, of 
course,” I pursued, to myself, “it’s Beppino’s lady-correspondent i 
again. Why on earth can’t he send her out a directed envelope, 
to start her?” But I was far too sleepy to solve the problem, — 
and I “ bothered ” all the other letters, and let them stay till to- 
morrow and went to bed. 

When the young man who (acting in conjunction with, or de- 
fiance of, my cook) ran my household in those days came in with 
my hot water in the morning, I was half awake listening to a j 
thunder-storm. “ Pips,” I said, “ make less noise. I want to 
hear the thunder.” For Janey used to enjoy listening to thun- 
der; and even if I had not always been partial to it myself, I 
should have enjoyed it for that reason. Pips said, “ Bight, Sir,” 
and the clap came like a great gun followed by musketry; and 
the rain, which had stood civilly waiting for the thunder to finish, 
came down like Niagara. In a few minutes the household realized 
that water was coming in in an empty top room, and Pips had 
been shouted to by his master to clear that front gutter. I men- 
tion this incident to account to myself for not thinking of that 
letter the moment I woke. In fact it never recurred to me until 
I was at breakfast. 

“Why on earth that Italian woman goes on firing away to the 
Poet I can’t imagine.” But I didn’t open the letter, and as there 
was a post-card from Lossie saying be sure to come to dinner 
to-night, because Professor Absalom was coming, I didn’t send 
it back with explanations as I might have done. It would save 
me writing a letter if I took it with me. Besides I could give 
it to Beppino personally if he was there, and avoid explanations. 

I couldn’t explain without letting out about the Novel. 

“I hope you found your letter. Partner,” said Bony to me at 
the Works that morning. 

“ What letter ? ” 

“Letter from an Italian lady — ^looked as if Lady Desprez had 
directed it on. She’d put the wrong number.” 

“ That’s Jeannie, I know ! ” 

“ What’s Jeannie ? ” 

“ Taking all that notice ! You never saw it was from a lady, 
Bony. I know you better than that ! ” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


445 

*^Well — you got the letter, anyhow.” I had got the letter, and 
explained that it wasn^t for me, but Beppino. I threw what light 
I could on the misdirection, giving Beppino’s explanation in brief; 
but dwelling on the fact that I had seen Beppino’s MS. novel. I 
saw Bony again that afternoon, after lunch. I myself had limcheJ 
in the city. 

“ I say, Joe,” said he. “ Jeannie^s not happy in her mind about 
that Italian girl. What Italian girl? WTiy, the Italian girl that 
writes letters to little Thorpe.” 

“ I think iPs all right. You see, any other supposition makes 
Bep out such a monstrous liar. Besides, he showed me the MS. 
of the novel with a blank left for the letter to come in. I read 
the passage. ^ With a cry of despair Wilkinson staggered back 
to the edge of the precipice. The letter was as follows;’ And 
then comes the space he was going to write it into.” 

^^Well — I suppose it’s all right. But Jeannie don’t think so. 
What’s to be the diameter of that first mover at Wainwright’s new 
shop — carries twenty-five h.p. — a hundred and sixty revs ” 

‘^Make it a sixteenth too much. But, I say. Bony dear— 
please ask Jeannie to say nothing about the Novel — ^he wants it 
to be a great surprise. It’s an Otto-Crossley, isn’t it?” And vre 
plunged into engineer’s details, and forgot the letter. ‘ 

I went to dinner, in response to Lossie’s invitation, early enough 
to have a game with the children and give a clockwork bear to the 
Turk. She did not show the prowess of her race, for when the bear 
was wound up and ran about in search of prey she wept. However, 
she became reconciled in the end, and took the bear to bed with 
her. 

You are so good with the children, J oe,” said Lossie, when 
I came down at six-thirty o’clock very much towzled and well 
splashed, for we had finished up with a bathing scene. The bear 
was not allowed in the bath, but was put on the shelf, too high 
for us to reach till we were quite dry and had said our prayers. 
,We said them too quick in consequence. 

As I descended to rejoin Lossie I saw Beppino coming up tlie 
long flight of steps to the street door. He let himself in with 
his latch-key, and was going straight upstairs when I ran 
out and intercepted him. He was in an awful hurry — ^had 
to be at Park Lane by eight — ^was it anything particular ? 
No — it wasn’t, it was only a letter from his Florentine corre- 
spondent, Annunciatina what’s-her-name. Catch hold! And he 
caught hold and went upstairs. But I thought the way in which 
he said, ‘^Ha — who — ho! Whose handwriting’s that — ^Lossie’s?^^ 


446 


JOSEPH VANCE 


had a sound of misgiving. I ascribed it to a fear that she might 
prosecute enquiry, and find out about the precious Novel. So I 
resolved to say nothing to her. She asked no questions about why 
I wanted to catch Beppino, and indeed we had no further con- 
versation, for the sound of a Turk howling was heard, and she 
rushed upstairs to the rescue. I heard after that the bear had 
tumbled out of the Turk^s bed, and she had awakened and found 
herself alone, like Psyche. 

I After a very pleasant evening I started for home with Professor 
Absalom. But as another storm was threatening I said good-bye 
to him and walked home quickly. As I crossed over the old bridge 
the first big warm drops of the coming torrent were spotting the 
pavement and drying up rapidly. They would not, soon. On 
arriving at Bony’s house I saw a light in his Smoking-room win- 
dow and was just thinking should I go in, when I heard Jeannie’s 
voice calling out Corner house.” The cab, which had overshot 
its mark, had first to be convinced, then to surrender the point 
reluctantly, then to turn round deliberately and come back. “ Just 
come from Circus-Boad,” said she, as I helped her out. shall 
catch it from Bobby for being so late. Yes — know half-a-crown’s 
enough. Never mind.” The hansom evidently preferred the three 
shillings. Jeannie turned round to me instead of making straight 
for the door. “ That’s perfectly ridiculous about Willcinson,” 
said she. 

What’s ridiculous ? ” 

About Wilkinson and the precipice. Who ever reads letters on 
the edge of precipices ? ” 

I felt I hadn’t a strong case to meet the question flashed at 
me by such a beautiful face under a gas-lamp in the street with 
a big storm pending. So I reserved my defence until Bony opened 
the door. “Ho — raining?” said he. “You’d better run, Joe. It’s 
going to be a deluge.” But Jeannie was not going to have her 
point spoiled. “ You agreed, Bobby, you know ! ” 

“Agreed about what?” 

“ About Wilkinson and the precipice.” 

“ Come along in — don’t stand outside. Who’s Wilkinson ? Oh— 
I know! Yes, it was rum.” 

“But it was all written in with the rest of the manuscript,” 
I said. “ And a blank left for the letter to come in. And he 
spoke to me about it of his own accord — almost immediately ” 

“ How immediately was it ? ” 

“Oh — next day — the day after ” 

“ Time enough to write a few words in. I don’t believe a word 


JOSEPH VANCE 


447 


of it, Mr. Vance.” She always called me Mr. Vance, and I called 
her Mrs. Mac, for short. We had never Jeannie’d and Joe’d, but 
I donH exactly know why. 

“ But, my dear Mrs. Mac,” I exclaimed, indignantly, you are 
making Beppino out such an awful character ! ” 

‘‘When it’s women, some men are!” quoth Jeannie, enigmat- 
ically, but none the less clearly. 

“ Here’s the rain, J oe — cut along ! Good-night ! ” Thus Bony ; 
and I called out good-night, and ran for it. And as I closed my 
own street door and shut the deluge out, I repeated to myself that 
when it was women some men were. I could not help seeing 
that in this case it probably was women, and possibly Beppino 
was. However, I took the next opportunity of impressing on 
Jeannie that I wished her to say nothing to Lossie of the Novel, 
about which, by the way, my incredulity grew greater the more I 
thought about it. 


CHAPTEE XLVm 


BEPPINO’S ILLNESS. LOSSIE STARTS FOR AVIGNON. A DISTINGUISHED 

author’s funeral, joe meets news of yet another death on 

HIS RETURN TO CHELSEA. HE HAS THROWN AWAY GOOD GRIEF ON 

BEPPINO. WHY DID BEPPINO WANT HIS CHILD CALLED CRISTOFOROl 

Beppino and his wife left for Avignon a day or two after the 
wedding. They did not, however, go straight there, because of 
the heat. I forget where they spent the six weeks or so before 
they got there. They then took so to the place that they wrote 
they might very likely remain till Christmas. They were quite 
at liberty to do what they liked and to go where they pleased. 
No young couple could have had less reason to anticipate a cloud 
in the clear horizon of their happiness. Youth, health, wealth, 
beauty, and fame — at any rate, as far as their own estimate went 
— what could be asked for more? But all these were as noth- 
ing; and the little cloud that was to blacken the whole vault 
of their heaven was there, invisible and confident. 

Would it have been so, I wonder, if they had gone elsewhere? 
Possibly. Also, possibly, the blow might have come a few weeks 
earlier, and poor Sibyl’s widowhood might have been unalleviated 
by what I think turned out in her case a substantial happiness. 
I know there are those who say that it is better that no memorial 
should remain of such a calamity as hers; that oblivion should 
be encouraged to the utmost, and the young survivor left to build 
up a new life on the ruins of the past. I thought hers the more 
fortunate lot of the two. Her baby — a son — was born about eight 
months after his father’s death. Lossie was with her more or 
less throughout — from the moment when she started for Avignon 
on receiving the news of her brother’s illness to the time after 
the baby’s birth, when its mother, terrified at first, had passed 
through a stage of reconciliation, to one of rapture. And she — 
I mean Lossie — thought with me that the child would be a gain 
to Sibyl in the present, and no obstacle to another marriage later, 
iWe were right. 

How much do I really recollect of his illness? Not overmuch. 
I can remember in their honeymoon — or rather moons — ^many let- 

448 


JOSEPH VANCE 


449 

ters coming to Lossie from Sibyl, who had attached herself almost 
passionately to her — the only case, by-the-bye, I ever knew of an 
attraction between sisters-in-law. As I was often at Poplar Villa 
in the evening, I heard more than one of those letters — or chop- 
pings from them — read aloud by Lossie. One evening when the 
general had been detained (I think it was to investigate the mis- 
conduct of some young officers who had put an unpopular ensign in 
a sack) a letter came from Sibyl to Lossie. She read it out to 
me and Nolly and his wife, who were also there, in the merci- 
lessly unintelligible way people have of reading letters; only 
giving just as much as they choose, but gloating over the con- 
cealed intervals. I noticed on the letter-back as she held it up 
that there was a postscript, rough written, but augured nothing 
from it. When she came to it, the cheerful voice that had been 
reading an account of a delightful expedition to Vaucluse ended 
abruptly, and was followed by a short Oh dear ” and attentive 
reading in silence. Beppino ill,’^ she said. And then, after a 
moment more reading : “ Oh dear — typhoid I — oh no, not typhoid. 
But what will poor Sibyl do, all alone ? ” 

"LePs have a look,” said Nolly, going across and taking the 
letter from her. And then as he read the postscript Lossie said, 
‘‘I shall go straight off to them at once — ^there’s a continental 
Bradshaw in the house,” and rang the bell for the servant. Oh 
no,” said Nolly, handing me the letter, “he’ll be all right! You 
mustn’t think of going, Lossie! It would be too absurd.” And 
I read it too, and joined chorus to the same effect. Lossie re- 
flected for a few seconds, and then said: 

“ Nolly and Joe — you’re all wrong. I’m going, that’s flat. You’ll 
keep your eye on the children, Joe, when Hugh’s away. There 
he is — ^now see what he says ! ” And the General followed up the 
click of his latch-key, and was made acquainted with facts and 
given the postscript to read. He looked it through and then read 
aloud : 

“ ‘ Dr. Crozat won’t give an opinion about what it is — ^hopes not 
typhoid — ^temperature four degrees above normal.’ Well, I should 
say we needn’t get in a fright about that — at least not until it’s 
certain it is typhoid. Typhoid takes its time. No, Loss — you 
mustn’t think of rushing away on the strength of this. Wait 
a day or two ! ” 

“My dear — if I don’t go I shall be miserable — think of that 
inexperienced girl all by herself. It’s only a two days’ journey. 
And think what a lot of typhoid I saw that time at Hyderabad 

“ But, Lossie dear, he’ll be nursed all right. French doctors ara 


450 JOSEPH VANCE 

no fools. And why should you go? Let Joe — ^he^U go — won^t 
you, Joe?” 

an hour-^htch the night boat at Dover, and go straight 
through.” I jumped at it. 

Now, Hughie darling, are you in your senses ? It isn’t only 
nursmg that’s wanted. It’s poor Sibyl, and keeping her spirits 
up, and forcing her to go to bed and rest, and all that sort of 
thing. Joe’s a dear boy, but is he the proper person?” We were 
obliged to consider this view, at least. 

Then Joe must go with you,” said the General. But Lossie 
trampled on this suggestion so vigorously that we had to surrender. 
‘‘Yes — I rang,” said Lossie to the servant. “Look in the Gen- 
eral’s dressing-room and bring down the great thick red book — 
you’ll see it somewhere there.” And when the continental Brad- 
shaw arrived it was arranged that Lossie, accompanied by Desiree, 
her French maid, should start early next morning for Avignon. 
And as the shops wouldn’t be opened so early, Nolly and I went 
out to purchase all the Brand’s beef -essence we could requisition 
from the neighbouring chemists. Nolly was incredulous, and 
thought it all a fuss about nothing. “ Sibyl’s been sticking a little 
glass thing they’ve got in his mouth,” said he. “ He’ll be all right 
in a day or two — ^you see if he isn’t.” 

“ I don’t know,” said I — “ but I wish Lossie would have let 
me go and stayed.” I didn’t, afterwards; and as it turned out, 
neither of us went the next morning. For when Nolly and I 
returned, laden with Brand’s Essence, there was the General at 
the street door in an embroidered dressing-gown Lossie had made 
him, smoking in the moonlight. “ Come along in, boys,” said 
he. “Loss certainly mustn’t go to-morrow, nor perhaps at all. 
I’ve seen a lot of t;jphoid. That time Lossie spoke of we had half a 
regiment down. And we never knew for a week and more whether 
I it was typhoid or not.” And we went in and smoked, and the 
■ General told us consolatory stories of superhuman rallies against 
this disorder, which did credit to the vitality of the English Army. 

But for all that, in a very few days typhoid was confirmed — 
very serious case, and so forth. Nothing could keep Lossie back, 
and the Brand’s Essence was travelled on after all. For at that 
time food was not what it is now, for the railway traveller, in 
France or elsewhere. 

Then followed three weeks of bulletins — either letters or tele- 
grams. It was all the usual thing — ^the ups and downs — the strug- 
gle of nature against fever — ^the not uncommon “pronounced out 
of danger ” and the inevitable end. Less than four months after 


JOSEPH VANCE 


451 


the young couple had started, full of life and hope, Lossie came 
back into an early November fog to tell us that she had left 
poor Sibyl in charge of her mother at the house in Park Lane. 
None of us (either of her family or her husband’s) had travelled 
out, both Sibyl and Lossie begging most earnestly that it should 
be so. Lossie even stipulated that no one should meet them at 
the station, wishing to get her charge back to her own home be- 
fore she saw any one. 

The funeral was in England; the body being embalmed and 
brought over at Sibyl’s desire. There was a considerable gath- 
ering at the grave, showing a literary appreciation of the deceased 
quite out of proportion to what I thought the value of his works. 
But I was glad to be in the wrong, as I saw it would be 
distinctly pleasant both to his poor young widow and Lossie 
to hear of it as soon as the first period of grief had gone by. 
Lossie could never understand my coldness about Beppino’s achieve- 
ments. It’s all nonsense, J oe,” she would say, “ to tell me you’re 
an Engineer, and engineers can’t appreciate poetry.” And another 
time when she had been at a soiree of the Koyal Society with 
her husband: ‘^What do you think old Dean Parr Bentley said 
about you, Joe? Said you were the only undergraduate he ever 
knew that could appreciate Pindar, and that a man who could 
take in Pindar could assimilate everything Greek! There! And 
then you say you’re an Engineer, and don’t understand Poetry.” 
I replied that undergraduates were bom of a low order of intel- 
ligence, and changed the subject. For I was always afraid of 
catechism from Lossie as to why I was callous towards Bep- 
pino. She was not surprised at Nolly, who was his brother by blood, 
so it was natural! Cain would have had a low opinion of any 
contributions of Abel’s to the daily Press, and vice versa. This, 
however, was some time before Beppino’s death. Now that he was 
gone it gave me pleasure to look forward to repeating to Los- 
sie the things said to me at the funeral by men really qualified 
to form a judgment. 

I went straight home to Chelsea after the funeral, knowing I 
should not find Lossie at Poplar Villa. Poor Sibyl clung to 
her and could hardly bear to be parted from her. So she had 
promised to stay with her all that day. It was a terrible day 
of driving sleet and ready-made snow sludge, thawing underfoot 
as it fell; a day to be remembered even by those who had not 
plodded through it to a new-made grave, over turf that combined 
all the worst qualities of ice and poultice. I was glad of the 
ehelter’ even of my own lonely house. Would any one^ I wonder^ 


452 


JOSEPH VANCE 


believe me if I told them the thought that hovered in my mind 
as I dwelt sadly on the poor young widow in her loneliness? It 
was not a well-defined thought — more a speculation of what it 
would have been had I thought it. It would have been very like 

she has only lost Beppino, while I ” I refused to think it, 

and to help me against it picked up the letters that awaited me 
and took them up to Janey’s writing-table to read, telling Pips to 
open the shutters in front in token of leave to survivors to for- 
get the departed if so disposed. 

What on earth was this huge black border I had to light 
the gas to see? Who can be writing to me from Florence to 
tell of a death? For that is the only meaning of a border as 
wide as one-third of the envelope. It was directed to the Illmo: 
Signore, Signor Giuseppe Vance, Cheyne Bow, Chelsea, Inghil- 
terra, written legibly, but with an appearance of having been 
copied by the writer. Did you ever see your own handwriting 
copied by another person ? — it has an odd familiarity and one can- 
not guess why — but one sees there is something wrong. I opened 
the letter, and read: 

“ Fiesole. 

Gentilissimo Signor Vance, 

Mese addietro Le scrissi una letter a, indirizzandola come ha 
detto Lei, a Byder and Abbott, Tichborne Street 122, London, 
Inghilterra; e non avendo avuto alcuna risposta, dubito che Ella 
non si trovi piu la, o forse che la lettera sia andata smarrita; 
pero vengo a replicare il suo contenuto. 

“Devo dare con animo straziato la tristissima notizia della 
morte della mia compianta cugina, che spirava serenamente il di 
16 Ottobre, munita dei conforti religiosi, tre settimane dopo la 
nascita d’ un maschio bellissimo, avendo una somiglianza alia Sua 
grata persona, tanto che siamo rimasti tutti stupefatti. Fino 
air agonia ha dato speranze il Signor Dottore: ma che vuole? — 
Ogni mezzo e stato provato, ed ogni rimedio: inutile tutto! Il 
bambino sta discretamente di salute; e speriamo che continui a 
migliorare. Anche noi siamo discretamente di salute, ma tutti 
profondamente commossi per la perdita della nostra carissima 
defunta. 

Tutti partecipiamo al suo immense dolore, tanto piu che Ella 
sia stato cosi crudelmente impedito dal ritornare alia sua ama- 
tissima moglie. 

Gradisca, Signore, il rispettoso saluto della sua devotissima 
Faustina Vespucci, Via della Carrozza, No. 13, Ottobre . . , 


JOSEPH VANCE 


453 

The day was illegible in the date — but it was October clear 
enough. 

Then followed a postscript. 

Avendo paura che anche questa non giunga a Lei, ho pensato di 
spedire una duplicazione cosi, indirizzandola al padrone dell^ Al- 
bergo di Milano di cui rammento il nome sulla sua valigia, 
sperando che per caso lui avrebbe altro indirizzo. 

La ringrazio ancora per il denaro. Come ho gia scritto e 
arrivato in buon tempo, ma per far tutto in ordine e riguardevol- 
mente le spese montano su, e siamo stati costretti a ricorrere al 
buon cuore del Padre facendoci imprestare la somma di duegento 
lire, ma siamo sempre per via di servircene col risparmio.’’ * 

Along a blank margin was written “ Al desiderio della Signora, 
fu battezzato il bambino Cristoforo Vance. Diceva anche il Signore 
lo voleva cosi.” I did not make this out in my first reading. 

I don’t think I ever had a more horrible sensation in my life 
than the clash between the softened feelings about Beppino that 
I had brought from his grave, and the shock this letter gave me. 
Not that I realized its contents properly at first. I only saw that 
there had been some foul play, and that it was connected with 
the former letter addressed to me, and meant for Beppino. Jean- 
nie Macallister’s rapid insight into an aspect of the last letter 
which I had missed had shaken my faith in Beppino’s explana- 

♦ [A month ago I wrote you a letter directed as you told me to Ryder and Abbott, 
Ticbborne St., and having bad no answer, I am in doubt if you are still there, or perhaps 
the letter may have got lost. I therefore write this to repeat its contents. 

I have to give yon with acute grief the most sad announcement of the death of my be- 
loved cousin, who'breathed her last tranquilly on Oct. 16, fortified by the consolations of 
religion, three weeks after the birth of a most beautiful boy, so closely resembling your- 
self as to astonish all of ns. The Doctor held out hopes up to the last moment, but what 
would you ’—every means had been tried and every remedy— all in vain I The child is 
going on well and we hope will continue to improve. For ourselves we are well enough 
as to health, but in the deepest grief for the loss of our most beloved departed. 

We all join in sympathy for your heavy loss, all the heavier that you have been so 
cruelly prevented from returning to your beloved wife. 

Accept. Signore, the respectful salutations of your most devoted, etc. 

P. S. Being afraid this also may fail to reach you, I have thought best to send it in 
duplicate, directing to the padrone of the Hotel at Milan, the name of whom I recollect on 
your luggage, in fhe hope that he will have another address. 

Thank yon again for the money. As T have already written, it arrived in good time, 
hut to do all in order and with due respect the expenses have run up, and I have been 
obliged to have recourse to the kindness of the Padre, and get him to lend me two hun- 
dred francs. But we have always been as economical as possible. 

At the wish of the Signora the baby was christened Cristoforo Vance. She said the 
Signore had wished this also.] 


454 


JOSEPH VANCE 


tion, and in my own judgment. But I had forgotten this in, 
the incident of the funeral. I remembered it now, and I simply 
felt sick to think what it was that was on the edge of elucida- 
tion. I saw the sort of thing, not the details. 

I got at them gradually. First it was clear that this letter 
had been forwarded by the hall-porter at the Milan Hotel, where 
my address, written by myself, had evidently been kept; also that 
a correspondence had been going on with Beppino at Poplar Villa, 
and that the last Italian letter had reached him a month nearly 
before this one was posted. How long had this one been coming? 
About ten days from date of writing — the postmarks were, like post- 
marks, illegible. Then forty days ago this poor lady, whoever or 
whatever she was — for really I hardly dared to think of that part 
of the matter — ^had been lying dead at Fiesole, and Beppino had 
either forgotten all about her in his honeymoon raptures, or let- 
ters had miscarried. Probably the latter. One thing was clear, 
pending explanation, that there was a seven-weeks-old baby in 
charge of some not very near relation — that was plain from the 
rispettoso saluto ” — and that there was a want of money. I must 
ease my mind about that baby, even at the cost of a little risk. 
I immediately wrote a letter to Faustina Vespucci, saying that I 
was not the person for whom the letter was intended, but that I 
believed I knew who was meant, and would take upon myself to 
forward a little danarOy as I felt certain I should be repaid. I 
wrote a cheque for twenty pounds, and when I had enveloped it 
and directed it felt as if I had really been of some use. It was 
too late for the foreign post now — but it might as well be posted. 
I should feel as if the poor people had got twenty pounds. I would 
post it as I went to tea at Bony’s, at the baker’s at the corner of 
Danvers Street. Meanwhile I should have time to think more 
over this letter. 

A person may be moderately familiar with Italian and yet may 
easily make mistakes in a first perusal of a letter. The practice 
of addressing people as she is one that requires time to become 
acceptable to an Englishman. The first impression I had was 
that Beppino had been making love to some married lady and 
that she was intended by some at least of the ellas and lets that 
puzzled me. She had had a male baby, and it had a startling 
likeness to her grata persona — was very like its mother, in fact. 
But stop a bit. That wouldn’t do! Why on earth should Bep- 
pino be sending money out to — yes ! evidently to some nurse, or 
housekeeper, or perhaps well-disposed friends— on account of either 
this baby or its mother? Then how about his being so cruelly 


JOSEPH VANCE 


455 

prevented from returning to his beloved wife? I had read it 
iwrong, and must go through it more carefully. 

Slowly — slowly — it dawned upon me. Beppino was actually 
married to this Italian girl — or at least she believed him her 
husband — at the very time when he was arranging his marriage 
with Sibyl Fuller Perceval in England. And this ill-starred little 
maschio was near his entry on the scene when his father was 
uttering his new lies to a fresh victim. For if the first was his 
victim by reason of his desertion, the second was even more so 
in view of his deliberate mendacity. 

Had I known then what I have since learned about Italian 
marriage-law, I should have understood that no bigamy was neces- 
sarily involved in Beppino^s action. I should have known what 
admirable facilities it gives to enterprise of this sort, and how 
the Church-service of espousal is a mere farce unless there is 
also a secular one; and that possibly Beppino was only half as 
bad as he seemed, having played the part of an incarnate devil 
to one girl only instead of two. For even if the maudlin iniquities 
of the laws Men make, and Women have no voice in, had backed 
him up in his treachery to this Italian, the knowledge that she 
was tied to an unclean creature would have broken (most likely) 
the heart that had the precious legal right to call him husband. 
But at that time I knew nothing of this achievement of Themis, 
and took for granted that the girl was really his wife accord- 
ing to Italian Law. 

There was another thing I took for granted, and it never crossed 
my mind to question it until I had quite exhausted conjecture as 
to how the little miscreant had contrived to maintain his pretexts 
about his delayed return to his wife. On that point I was des- 
tined to remain in the dark. The thing I swallowed whole with- 
out protest was the use of my own name, and its bestowal on 
the lady. I conceived of it simply as part of the accident of the 
ascription of ray name to Beppino and his original acquiescence 
in it as a kind of joke. Such a misconception might go great 
lengths in Tuscany; the natives regarding forestieri as quite irre- 
sponsible, and very likely wrong about their own names; while the 
latter would consider them in return fascinating and clever, but 
children for all that! I suppose if I had been less tired with 
the funeral, and shocked with the main fact of the letter, I 
should have seen the whole bearing of the case better. As it 
was I would go and get Jeannie to give me tea, and say noth- 
ing to any one about it till I had had time to collect myself. 
I didn^t even post the twenty pounds as I had intended, stop- 


456 JOSEPH VANCE 

ping short just as I was letter-boxing it. It would go just as 
soon posted to-morrow. 

I was really glad to forget the whole thing; although I knew I 
was doing so artificially, and that I should have to let it come back. 
I was much helped by hearing a storm of babies rush into the 
passage in response to my knock, and say it knew it was mine. 
Jeannie had five of these articles, and it was great joy to carry 
the two smallest and be propelled by Archie Stephenson and Elix 
into light and warmth and chatter of many tongues and Jeannie 
looking splendid, and any amount of tea preparations. 

“ Oh dear ! ” said she, I’ve been thinking of you all day. 
Such an awful day. Elixie and Posset, my dears, your uncle 
Joe’s tired and you must let him off easy.” I encouraged these 
two to pay no attention to their mother, and they made no 
concession. But a call came in connection with tea supplies 
which I was glad of. Parenthetically, Jeannie’s soft silvery 
Scotch accent was always there, though I can’t spell it. If 
you like to spell “ dears ” with a u and sound the r, I see no 
objection. 

Madame Schmidt, my old pianist friend, was there. She had 
got a foothold in Bony’s family as an instructor not only in 
music, but in the other arts, and Science and Literature, and 
so forth. I knew a man once who undertook to teach Sanskrit, 
of which he knew nothing. “ I learned,” said he, “ as much be- 
fore breakfast as I could teach between ten and twelve. And 
I allowed no questions to be asked.” I believe the Erau did ex- 
actly the same with the little Macallisters. I was glad to see 
her, for her presence (as the Press would say nowadays) spelt Bee- 
thoven. However, the spelling was not going to become speech 
on a piano she could only play for the children on. We must 
go round to my house if there was to be any Beethoven : the Erau 
was inflexible. So I sent instructions to Pips to have coffee ready, 
and I stayed on to dinner, and we all went round to my house 
directly after, “ indigestically, but never mind!” said Jeannie. 
And then we had coffee, and simply wallowed in the Pathetique 
and the Moonlight and the Waldstein, and I had my special move- 
ment twice over. 

I had need of it, so horrible was the memory I had to 
slip back to. I said good-night to Jeannie and Bony and Erau 
Schmidt, with the phrases of the Waldstein still ringing triumph- 
antly through every fibre of my senses. We had spoken less, and 
less freely, of the departed than we should have done had the letter 
incident not occurred. Had there been no Wilkinson and no preci- 


JOSEPH VANCE 


457 


pice, Jeannie would have been almost sure to join in the con- 
versation more easily, whatever she really thought. As it was, 
she spoke very little of the funeral, and in response to my good- 
night only bade me, Good-night, Mr. Vance, and now do go and 
have a real good night^s rest, for you look half -dead.” Her hus- 
band had referred to the funeral. 

However, as old Anne at Poplar Villa used to say, Half -dead 
never filled the churchyard.” It (or he) did not even send me 
off into a sound sleep. For just as I was going off, I was dragged 
awake again by a thought. How, if Beppino had actually availed 
himself of the name-confusion to betray this girl, and lure her 
into a marriage which he could disclaim. 

As soon as I was fully awake, I saw he could not have done 
this, unless indeed Italian and English wedding-law were dif- 
ferent. But it made me very feverish and uncomfortable, and I 
was very sorry for myself for not having got to sleep that time. 
Never mind, I would try again. And I had just got comfort- 
ably settled, with the clothes tucked round behind, and the pil- 
low pulled a little down, when a new disturbing idea came. What 
was the name the child had been called? I had not read it very 
clearly. I dismantled all my comfort without remorse, and, jump- 
ing up, lit the candle beside my bed. I got the letter from my 
pocket as quick as I could, and got back to bed again and read 
it over. 

Where was it? Here along the blank margin of the first page: 
‘^Fu battezzato Cristoforo Vance — anche il Signore lo voleva cosi.” 
Now what did that mean? 

Christopher Vance — my Father^s name! Why, if I had had a 
boy myself, that is what I should have called him. Was it con- 
ceivable that — but perhaps I was feverish. I would put the let- 
ter away till to-morrow. I turned in again, and this time I went 
to sleep, and slept soundly. 


CHAPTER XLIX 


JOE SUBSIDIZES CRISTOFOBO. HOW HE TOOK GENERAL DESPREZ INTO 
HIS CONFIDENCE. THE BRAZILIAN SCHEME. ANOTHER FLORENTINE 
LETTER. HOW JOE RESOLVED TO GO OUT AND SEE THAT CRISTOFORO 
WAS PROPERLY NOURISHED. 

To GO tlirough all the ups and downs this Italian letter caused 
me would be to record the vacillations of three weeks. I did 
not at first see my way tc taking any one into my confidence. 
Nor did I post my cheque next day, as I had intended. But 
I sent the money out in bank notes with a letter which I dic- 
tated to one of my clerks at the works, filling in the Italian 
name and the address myself. It merely said twenty pounds was 
enclosed and please acknowledge to Mr. Vance. Another letter 
would follow. This gave me time to think it over. 

As soon as I could make up my mind what had actually hap- 
pened, I would take Hugh Desprez into my confidence. I can- 
not describe the power he had of inspiring trust in himself. I 
always felt and thought of him as a great superior strength, and 
wondered at Lossie’s intrepidity with him and his complete acqui- 
escence in her influence. She once said to me, “If Hugh were 
angry with me I thinly I should die. I have seen him angry, 
and you have no idea what it was. Some of the men had ill- 
treated a native woman — I don’t like to think of it” — and Lossie 
turned pale, and I changed the topic. 

The question (so it seemed to me) that I had to answer was: 
Secrecy, or no secrecy? I wanted secrecy, but I could not be 
sure it was right. If the General consented to secrecy, it could 
not be wrong! Nothing he consented to could be — it was a fore- 
gone conclusion. 

At the end of the three weeks of vacillation I had decided 
that what had actually happened was this: After leaving me at 
Milan, Beppino had fallen in love — or what he called love — with 
an Italian girl, and finding he would have to marry her or give 
up ‘the point, had chosen the former alternative. Whether he 
believed at the time that the use of my name would obtain 
the support of Authority for his treachery, I could not decide, 

468 


JOSEPH VANCE 


459 


I was not even sure that he had not protested against its use, 
and thereby created a suspicion that he wished to substitute a 
false Thorpe for a true Vance. He may even have intended on 
his return to England to allow Sibyl to lapse and to acknowledge 
the Italian. He would have been a scurvy beast according to my 
high-flown ideas had he done so; but not so bad, as the world 
goes! The tendency of my speculations was towards excuse-mon- 
gering. I would make the best case I could to lay before the 
General. As for his use of my name as a wrong to myself, I 
did not trouble much. What could it matter? What could any- 
thing matter ? And suppose he had tried to impute an Italian baby 
to me, and to foster the idea by giving it my Father^s name, was 
it a thing to be resented by a man who (so long as he could 
account to himself for his own actions) did not care much what 
folk thought about him? Did I not remember how that day in 
the Ticino valley I longed to carry off Idomeneo Pellegrini from 
his delicious mud-pie, and appropriate him, and how I even felt 
sorry to wash off the compact little hand-print he had so kindly 
impressed on my forehead. Oh no! It was no wrong to be 
resented — a scheme to make me the possessor of an Idomeneo 
without crime or treachery on my part. For anything I knew this 
little character, at present half-mummified, and only allowed chrys- 
alis-exercise for its legs, might turn out as succulent at three as 
Idomeneo. I shut my eyes and endeavoured to picture to myself 
his clenched fists, trying to clear away an obstructive imiverse; his 
terrific voice insisting on a bottle, and his immediate preoccupa- 
tion on receiving it. No ! I wasn’t going to be very angry about 
that part of the business. I would send the little party some more 
cash to go on with in case he should be running short. 

I made up my mind then that I would speak to the General 
as soon as an opportunity offered. We always smoked in the 
Library, and my chance came one evening in December, when 
I had dined alone with him and Lossie; and she, being tired, 
had announced that she should go to bed early. So we deferred 
cigars altogether till she went, and then adjourned to the Library 
for good. After we had smoked a little I spoke. 

I say. General, I want to put a case to you. Suppose a pri- 
vate soldier was to come to you and say he had something in 
his mind — something affecting the welfare of the regiment — and 
say he couldn’t tell it unless you promised secrecy — what would 
you say ? ” 

The General considered for a few seconds — a very few — and 
then said: 


460 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“1 should say I couldn’t make a promise in the dark — ho 
must either trust me in full, or carry his information elsewhere. 
I would promise to do my best by him if he liked to confide 
in me. Only, he would have to confide outright ! ” 

We sat puffing out clouds in silence for a few minutes. Then 
he looked at me, and said interrogatively, Terms accepted, Joe?” 

“Terms accepted,” I replied. “You’ll have to listen to a long 
story. General.” And I told him straight through without reserve 
the whole story as I have written it. I also told him what I 
knew of Beppino’s previous life — the affair of Thornberry’s wife, 
and also I am sorry to say of one or two analogous events that 
had come to my knowledge which I have not recorded here. When 
I had ended, the General remarked that he was not a very good 
Italian scholar, but he might as well see the letter. I handed 
it to him. 

“ Of course the chief thing is Lossie,” said he. “We can’t 
have her heart broken over this. Also that poor little widow- 
lady.” 

“ Of course,” I repeated after him, “ the chief thing is Lossie.” 
And I felt that he had thrown in poor Sibyl in a rather per- 
functory way. But I was worse, and did not include her at all. 
Neither he nor I then knew that a child was expected. Had 
we done so we should have seen at once how it would complicate 
the position. Lossie may have known; but it was early days to 
talk of such matters, and nothing had reached me or the General. 
He opened the letter, and translated to himself, referring to me 
once or twice for an interpretation. 

“What’s ‘vengo a replicare’? I come to reply? — oh, I see, 
duplicate its contents. And what’s 'siamo rimasti stupefatti ’ ? ” 

“ They have remained surprised. That is, they were astonished 
at the likeness — the somiglianza 

“ To its mother ? ” 

“ No — to Beppino. His grata persona is himself.” 

“ The bambino stands discreetly. It’s too young. It can’t stand 
at all.” 

“ It’s only a way of saying it’s doing very well on the whole.” 

“I suppose the poor girl’s name was Gradisca? Here it is 
— * sua amatissima moglie Gradisca.’ ” 

“Oh no! It’s only a way they have of winding up a letter. 
Heaven only knows what it means ! ” 

“Why can’t they write plain English?” However, the General 
got through the rest of the letter, and even admitted that hav- 
ing recourse to the good heart of the Padre was not a bad ex- 


I JOSEPH VANCE 461 

• . 

pression — for foreigners. In spite of all his long residence in 
India, he had a John Bull citadel in his innermost heart. 

“We must send them some money, Joe,” said he, at once tak- 
ing the same point as myself first. “ But most likely youVe done 
that ? ” I admitted that I had, and added that possibly I had sent 
more than was wise. 

“You see. General,” I said, “I haven^t consulted any one, and 
whenever I felt anxious about that baby I relieved my mind by 
posting Bank of England notes to it. IPs quite a little Croesus 
by now. But tell me, how does the whole thing strike you ? ” 

“ Well — Pm too old to be surprised at anything of this sort. 
I never remain stupefied, as our friend says, about anything with 
a woman in it. Besides, I took Beppino^s measure long ago. I 
never knew any of these stories you have told me, but of course 
I could give him his class after all the young officers I have known. 
Lossie thought of him as of an innocent young boy, a child. She 
would be horribly cut up if she knew the truth.” 

“/ shan’t tell her. But didn’t Bep sometimes strike you as 
being like a child, in some respects?” 

“Yes, he did. But then the first thing that struck me — 
when I saw him first — about fourteen he was, I think — was that 
his intellect was so much older than himself. Now I always 
thought latterly that his body had got older than his mind, and 
run away with him, as it were. However, it’s no use speculat- 
ing. He wasn’t good — we must leave him to other Judgment 
than ours. We have to think what’s to be done now. Let’s run 
through the letter again — well, look here! here we are at the first 
go-off ! How long did this letter take to reach you ? I can’t make 
out the date.” 

“Probably a week. But here’s the envelope ” 

“It’s no good looking at postmarks. But it would be a week, 
more or less. And the writer had written a month before. And 
you got this the day of the funeral. The letter despatched a 
; month before the funeral may be still lying at this address given 
in the letter. Nothing was forwarded to Avignon during his 
illness.” 

“How do we know? He may have told them to direct Poste 
Bestante, Avignon?” And we went on discussing the numerous 
possibilities, but ended by deciding that it would be just as well 
to apply at Byder and Abbott’s and claim any letter we should find. 

“Should we be justified in doing so?” said I. 

“Legally yes, because I am his executor,” replied the General 
I had forgotten this fact. Beppino had made a will at Lossie’a 


463 


JOSEPH VANCE 


instigation, and had made Hugh sole executor. As to the moral 
aspect of the case,” continued he, think I may go to that re- 
sponsibility.” 

‘‘ As to claiming it,” said I. “ But how about reading it when 
weVe got it?” 

Suppose we think it over,” answered he. And as he said noth- 
ing more on this point, I left the matter alone, and we talked, 
I think, of a raid the children had made on their father^s photo- 
graphic chemicals — and some uncertainty there had been as to 
whether the Turk had sampled the Cyanide. 

This was on Thursday. Next day I dined with some friends 
to meet some men who had a big work in hand for Brazil, and 
were good enough to think I should be of service to them. Thd 
Saturday evening I spent as usual with Mr. Spencer at Hamp- 
stead. I can remember the blank that came over his poor old 
face when I told him about the Brazilian mines, and the rail- 
way that was to open up ” a country about the size of Austria. 
‘^Joe! — Joe!” said he, ‘^you’ll go away to South America and 
we shall never see you again.” I answered, Never fear, Padrone ” 
— ^but felt rather hypocritical about it. For I had already been 
thinking to myself how few ties I should have if Lossie and 
her husband went to live in Italy, as they often talked of doing, 
and Bony^s father, who was ailing, should die and leave him heir 
to his estates in Perthshire. Bony’s elder brother. Colonel Macal- 
lister, received a charge of shot in one eye at a shooting-party, 
at the age of thirty-five, and had lost a life that seemed to enjoy 
deer-stalking and grouse-shooting, billiards and picquet, a funny 
play and a good dinner, impartially and equally, without any 
distinction. He was a great loss to his friends, and when he 
died a bachelor Bony was left sole heir to some very broad acres. 
The latter liked his profession well enough, but a big factory 
in London had no attractions that would compete with a little 
kingdom in the Perthshire Highlands. He would go, and then 
I really should hardly have a soul of the old lot to speak to. 
There would be Nolly, certainly; but he and I had never been 
close enough not to slip asunder and yet remain the best of friends 
whenever we met. There is very little juice in reciprocity of 
that sort. 

So when my father-in-law said to me, “We shall never see you 
again,” the thought that crossed my mind was that “I” might 
have done as well as “We.” He would be the only human tie 
with any strength in it in London, if all went as I foresaw. I 
relied to him that if I did go it would only be for a spell, and 


JOSEPH VANCE 


463 


X wasn’t going to desert him. I could not say to him that I 
never really felt happy with him, because I could not talk freely 
of J aney. When I referred to her he sighed, ‘‘ Ah dear — ah dear,” 
and seldom spoke in reply. I no more dared speak of her as I 
thought, as of a living something in a time I had no conception 
of and a space my eyes were closed on, than if he had been Violet 
Towerstairs. 

When I next day saw Hugh, on the Sunday at Poplar Villa, 
he and Lossie were surrounded by young officers; a small frac- 
tion, said he, of a train of worshippers whom Lossie always had 
in hand in India. You’ll see,” said he, “ that the one she speaks 
to will brighten up, and all the others will look dejected.” Which 
happened to the letter, all the evening. Such a crew of dear boys, 
and all for what? The only survivor of the party (when I began 
to write these annotations) was killed the other day. I saw his 
name in the list a week ago. I had to think of Dr. Thorpe and 
his saying. 

Wlien the last laugh had died away and the last good-night been 
gaid — and with one at least it was a case of moriturus te salutat, 
for we heard of his death a month later — the General and I turned 
into the Library again for a little chat, and Lossie vanished up- 
stairs. 

“ What do you think now,” I asked, “ about going to claim the 
letter — or letters ? ” 

“ I’ve got them here somewhere,” said he. “ There are two. Got 
them next morning. Here they are ; ” and he brought them out 
of his pocket. I still felt uneasy about opening them, and said so. 

‘‘ But your scruples won’t go the length of collaring them from 
me ? ” And he settled the matter by opening one forthwith. 

I have not this letter here, as the General kept it, and probably 
destroyed it after Beppino’s affairs were wound up. It was in 
the handwriting of the first letter (signed Annunciatina), which 
Beppino had given the doubtful explanation of, and the substance 
was that Annunciatina Vance was looking forward with rapture 
' to the promised return of her darling husband. It was dated the 
25th of September, after the birth of the baby, which had been 
christened Cristoforo, as his father had wished. It was carino 
ma carino — veramente un angiolo di bellezza, e tanto somigliante 
al mio tesoro. There was only one macchia on the writer’s pienezza 
di gioia, this ‘^crudele ritardimento del ritorno — ah come deside- 
rato ! — del mio bramatissimo marito.” The letter threw some light 
on the excuses for this delay, as the writer dwelt on the cruelty 
of the military laws which dragged the husband from the wife and 


464 


JOSEPH VANCE 


the son from the mother to serve in the army, even when little 
fitted by nature for such service. Beppino had evidently made 
representations in this sense. The letter thanked him for his 
enclosures of denaro sempre ben avanzato, and we would badaro 
that it should be ben risparmiato. There were not tanti quattrini 
in these days! Then followed more expressions of rapturous af- 
fection; but as I cannot recall the Italian phrases, this descrip- 
tion of the remainder of the letter is enough. The other letter 
was the duplicate of the one I had received.* 

His military service,’’ said the General. “ The little miscreant. 
I know, Joe! De mortuis nil nisi honum. But there’s a limit.” 

“ I wasn’t going to defend him,” said I. I was only going 
to ask you where you found the letters ? ” 

^^It was his tailor’s — I really felt as if they were a sort of 
accomplices. But of course they were as innocent as this poor 
baby. They had not even heard of Beppino’s death — which was 
a little odd. I suppose they were very busy with their winter 
orders. He had told them to forward all Mr. Giuseppe Vance’s 
letters that came there to the Hotel at Avignon, as well as let- 
ters to himself, but only till the end of October, when he expected 
to return to London. Several had come for Mr. Giuseppe Vance, 
but none for Mr. Thorpe. All had been forwarded as directed but 
these two, of which the first arrived October 31. Our Mr. Abbott, 
who knew about these letters, was away at the time, and only 
came back November 3d; and we then thought it best not to 
forward. We hoped we had done rightly, and I said yes.” 

What a revelation of duplicity and lies! How did the little 
traitor, under the very eyes of his new-made bride, contrive to 
receive and answer these forwarded letters ? There must have been 
some awaiting him at the hotel when he arrived. “ Surely Sibyl 
would have seen them ? ” I said. 

Why should she not ? ” said the General. Remember they 
were not directed to him.” 

But Mrs. Beppino knows my name well enough, and would 
be sure to ask questions.” 

“ My dear boy, the letter wasn’t directed to you either. Sibyl 
wouldn’t know Giuseppe Vance from Adam.” 

But she would have seen Beppino take the letters.” 

* Mr. Vance, writing for an imaginary reader, chooses to imagine, among other 
things, that this reader understands Italian ! We have done our best, by transla- 
tion and omission, to remove this obstacle from the path of the ordinary reader, 
but have thought it would damage the character of the work to cancel or alter 
the whole. The reader must skip. — Editob’s Note. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


465 


^‘Yes, if he had grabbed at them in her presence. But, you 
see, he was no fool. Probably he waited till she was out of the 
way and then told the hotel man he would give them to Mr. Vance 
at another Hotel. There could be no difficulty five francs wouldn’t 
cover.” 

And so we went on discussing the ins and outs and difficulties 
of the matter; and I did not feel then, and never have felt, clear 
about how it was manipulated so as to avoid detection and ex- 
posure. But Hugh’s head was cooler than mine and I accepted 
his view, which was that Beppino’s crime was now a thing of 
the past, the victim being dead as well as himself. He took for 
granted that the girl had been deceived by some form of bogus 
marriage — perhaps only to satisfy scruples. “You see,” said he, 
“ to suppose it otherwise would void his marriage with Sibyl. He 
seems to have been villain enough for anything. But villains re- 
spect property who would treat women as mere drugs in the mar- 
ket. Think of the darling Money involved. Beppino was not rich 
enough to be indifferent to Sibyl’s money — ^nor pastoral enough ! ” 

I assented to this then. Afterwards I saw reason to doubt it. 
But I now see Hugh was right. He knew more than I did of the 
power of the one thing sacred, the motive that outlives and super- 
sedes all others. If in what followed after I had allowed enough 
for the force of gold, many things in my life might have gone 
otherwise. 

“What shall we do now?” said I, when we began to feel we 
could get no further light on the subject by talking it over. “ Sup- 
pose I go over and see after this poor little card. I hope to 
goodness he’ll get proper sustenance.” The General could not help 
smiling. My dear Joe Vance,” he said, “ what a regular old Mrs. 
Gamp you are ! ” 

Lossie always says so ! ” said I. “ But I’m serious. I shall 
have to go to Milan in the course of the spring, I might just as 
well go now. I can send cash, and instructions to Faustina Ves- 
pucci, adhering to my description of myself, and to Beppino’s 
death. I shan’t have to answer any questions as long as I pro- 
duce cash.” 

“ You’ll let me stand Sam,” said Hugh. 

“ No — I won’t,” said I. 


CHAPTER L 


,1 


JOE GOES TO FIESOLE. AND HEARS ALL ABOUT BEPPINO’s WILD OAT. ^ 
HE GETS HIS LETTERS, AND ADOPTS HIS BABY. HIS MIXED TALE TO j 
LOSSIE. HE IS WALKING ON A TIGHT-ROPE, BUT FOR LOSSIE^S SAKE, j 

■1 

It was well on in January before I was able to run out (as 
I called it) to Milan. I went by the Mont Cenis — rather relieved \ 
to escape the route by which Beppino and I had travelled out. I j 
should have found Idomeneo Pellegrini blue, and his mud-pie \ 
frozen. The journey through the mountain this time was an ex- i 
perience of sitting in a stuify railway carriage, and wrangling with 
an American family about opening windows. I remember it now ] 
as an instance of Man’s inconsequent nature that, after I had men- : 
tioned to the Paterfamilias that I should probably go to America ^ 
in the autumn, the family allowed me to have the window two j 
inches open at long intervals. | 

I was much too curious about Cristoforo Vance to get through | 
my Milan business before seeing him; so I went to Florence first | 
and took a vehicle next day to Fiesole. J 

I started from Maria Novella in a thick fog, which with a I 
sufficient supply of coal smoke would have given the Hotel Minerva j 
an experience of London. As the road rose towards San Do- ','i 
menico the fog lightened, and, when we arrived there it was ’ 
clear enough to see the bells swing in the church-tower as well j 
as hear them. Then we started on the serious climb, and I pro- - 
posed that I should walk to spare the horse. But the driver | 
said, “ Che, che ! Non si confonda ! Si accommodi ! Si accom- | 
modi!” and really got quite excited about it. The horse, which 
of course he called a havallo, was equal to any emergency: Fara | 
bene, lo garantisco io!” But he got down and walked himself, 
at the very stiff bit at the top, and I thinly it was good for him, i 
as his clothes were really filled out too tight to be reasonable. ^ 
By the time we got to the Medici villa just below this, we were 
in dazzling sunshine, and spread over the whole valley of the Arno 
was a strange fog sea, looking like a dead level plain basking in' 
the light, and from the centre of it shot up the towers of Flor-.; 
ence — ^the Campanile and the Signoria — and the colossal dome that' 
could take St. Paul’s inside with only small accommodation. The 

466 ' 


JOSEPH VANCE 


467 


eun was quite warm now towards mezzogiorno, and the population 
of vendors of roba di paglia were enjoying it and I suppose pitying 
the choked and shivering Florentines below. They were indignant 
with me for not wanting straw workboxes and screens. 

I found that the Via della Carrozza was a strada running from 
the Piazza (where the Electric Trams stop now) along the face 
of the hill where the stone quarries are. 

It happened that it was a rather bad road, and the house some 
distance off; however, there was a short cut. So I left my fat 
driver behind in spite of his protestations about the powers of 
his havallo, and went on foot. I found the scorciatoiOf or short 
cut, and then the house, and then its primo piano. And there a 
lassie who opened the door, said yes, this was where the Signora 
Vance had lived, and if I would passare she would tell the Sig- 
norina Faustina. But the Signora Vance was morta tre mesi 
fa ” — dead three months ago. 

I was fairly put to it to understand the voluble Tuscan of the 
Signorina Faustina when she came, which was not made more 
intelligible by the poor woman’s overpowering joy at seeing a 
parente of the povero Signore. Indeed, we had not gone much 
beyond establishing who I was, and bringing about the produc- 
tion of Master Cristoforo Vance himself in the arms of an amaz- 
ing balia, or wet-nurse (who at once set at rest all misgivings 
about Cristoforo’s rations), when the buon Padre appeared — ^he, 
as I learned, who had advanced money for the spese. He was a 
great relief, as he was a very intelligent middle-aged man who 
spoke distinctly, more like a Homan than a Florentine; and who 
also knew a few words of English, having passed some of his 
early life in a fraternity at that well-known English town Soo- 
dongtong; which I acknowledged provisionally and identified later 
as Southampton. But these things take time. The earlier part 
of our interview was also interrupted by the chiasso di quel bam- 
bino, who certainly had strong lungs, and seemed to object to 
everything. He was amiable to me though, and took steps towards 
tearing my beard out by the roots. He then forgot to let go, 
and became distrait, and hiccoughed. Then he started the chiasso 
and was removed. It seemed so funny to me that that little pur- 
ple-brown thing was really Christopher Vance, and called so after 
my dear Daddy, although his own father had scarcely a right to 
appropriate the name. 

The story of his parents’ marriage, or what the priest and Signo- 
rina Faustina, who was a cousin of the bride, told me gradually 
and disjointedly, may be condensed as follows: 


468 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Annunziatina Vespucci was a daughter of a respectable well- 
to-do contadino of Castel Eiorentino. She had a very fine voice, 
and her parents, to give her a chance of educating it, placed her 
with a relative, an aunt, in Florence, at whose house she met Bep- 
pino, who used to go there to take Italian lessons from the aunt. 
Beppino made love to her, and the poor girl, who was barely seven- 
teen, had fallen madly in love with him. Her parents, learning 
what was going on, had withdrawn her from the aunt’s, and 
forbidden her to have any communication with her lover. I did 
not then clearly understand, and have never known, what objec- 
tion they had to him. Probably he crossed some other arrange- 
ments they had in view. The result was stolen interviews, and, 
finally, that Annunziatina left her home suddenly and was mar- 
ried at the parish church of Gualdo Tadino in the January. The 
Priore gave me his most solemn assurance of his belief that the 
marriage had been strictly in ordine, and I, being perfectly igno- 
rant of Italian usages, could not' question anything he said, nor 
was I inclined to do so. He admitted that it had seemed to him 
strange that none of the parenti of the Signore Vance had turned 
up — but then, che vuole ? — the Signora and Signore seemed all-suf- 
ficient to one another. Moreover, I was not to suppose he 
himself had really seen much of the Signore — ^he had only done 
what he could to reassure and console the Signora after his de- 
parture. The Signora had seen nothing of her parents, who were 
incensed against her. But when the Signore was called away in 
the spring, she wrote to her cousin, the Signorina Faustina, tell- 
ing her of her condition and that her husband was called away 
to England on urgent business. She had wished to accompany 
him, but he had dissuaded her — ^vedute le circostanze. 

Whatever Beppino supposed his position to be with respect to 
poor Annunziatina — whether or not he supposed his false name or 
some law shufiie would back him up in betraying her — I do not 
know; but I could see no object in raising doubts of his integrity 
in minds where none existed. I had the task, always unpleasant, 
of telling literal truths in such a way as to produce an entirely 
false impression. The task was all the easier as my audience 
put any discrepancy down to my faulty Italian, and substituted 
plausible versions of their own. I told them Beppino had left 
England in the autumn, none of us ” knowing exactly what his 
plans were, and had been taken ill at a Hotel at Avignon, and 
died of typhoid a fortnight after his wife. I felt a horrible liar 
in speaking of Annunziatina without a hint of a question of her 
position; and wished for an equivalent of ^‘ma che vuole?” in 


JOSEPH VANCE 


461 # 

English, to escape my own conscience. After I had told them all 
I could get into bad Italian, subject to the drawbacks under which 
I spoke, I asked were there no letters from Avignon, and what was 
the date of the last? Yes, there were many letters, and the last 
came very shortly before the relapse which ended in Annunziatina’s 
death. 

La Faustina, as the Padre called her, produced these letters; but 
demurred about allowing them to be read, or to go out of her 
possession. She had not read them, though she had heard some 
of them as they arrived — was not sure she ought not to destroy 
them unread. I entreated her not to do so, until I had time to 
think over the whole thing. I saw I had a difficult position to 
deal with, but was anxious to get every light possible on the story, 
and at the same time unwilling to leave this large parcel of let- 
ters, signed with my own name, without knowing into whose hands 
they might pass. I did not like to say destroy them at once. I said 
I would go away and get lunch, being aware of a table being 
laid in an adjoining room. But the Faustina begged me to 
favorire, as the Priore was staying to desinare, and I accepted the 
invitation. 

I did not take a very long time making up my mind about the 
course to pursue. By the time I had smoked a Trabuco after pranzo 
(I was glad to find that everything seemed to have been on a 
most comfortable footing) I had made a resolution. And the 
result of the proposals it prompted me to make with the Faustina 
was a treaty to the following effect: 

She for her part was to take charge of Cristoforo Vance and 
see that he should be copiously, even extravagantly nourished. That 
his legs should be released from bondage at the very earliest date 
Tuscan usage would sanction. That she should write to me every 
week for the present, and should receive by return a remittance 
to cover expenses and a consideration for herself. That she should 
also accept as a regalo after all she had done for the poor Signora 
the mobiglia and sundries the house contained, which indeed I 
should have been puzzled else to know what to do with. And lastly, 
that the letters should be handed over to me to give to the Sig- 
nore’s executors in England. These conditions being complied with, 
I would charge myself with all the responsibilities of a parent 
towards Cristoforo. 

The Faustina hesitated over the letters. Would it be right to 
give them up? — Eemember, she saw me for the first time! — The 
Padre also considered there should be a clause in the Treaty about 
Oristoforo’s being brought up a Christian, and not a Protestant©, 


470 


JOSEPH YAJMCJE 


oi Free Thinker. I was about to point out that the mother’s 
wish decided this, when I perceived that if I made difficulties, and 
said the father was of the Chiesa Evangelica, the Faustina would 
concede the letters in exchange for a concession on my part. So 
it turned out, and the Treaty with some minor details was ratified. 
I felt a great story-teller, but then, was I not taking' over Cris- 
tof oro ? 

I have made great efforts to remember all I could of this inter- 
view, in order that I may recollect, if possible, how large a share 
in it was taken by the only person then present who lives on into 
my story. I think I have recalled everything of any importance so 
far. Let me try and be equally accurate with the remainder. 

When the Treaty was, as it were, signed and sealed, and the sub- 
ject of it, who was taking some refreshment, had been brought in 
for a final inspection, I prepared to take my leave and go back 
to my fly-driver. The important parts of the negotiation had been 
between the Faustina, the Priore, and myself, none other being 
present. As I exchanged my last words with them, there were 
present also the balia, to whom Master Christopher was attached 
as a limpet; and the ragazza who had admitted me to the house, 
and waited on us at dinner, when our conversation on the main 
subject had been less specific and concentrated than either before 
or after. As nearly as I can remember I turned to the Signorina 
and told her in the best Italian I could command that I intended 
to fulfil all the responsibilities of a father towards that child, and 
that although his baptismal name had been chosen without consult- 
ing me I was quite content with that of my own father, whom I 
should consider in the light of its grandfather. At this point 
the ragazza, who had been directed to sparecchiare our coffee-cups, 
contrived to spill them over on the ground and break two. She 
was promptly tried and convicted for staring at the Signore 
Inglese instead of fare attenzione, and was routed and driven away 
into the cucina, bearing the fragments. The Signorina apologized 
for her behaviour, saying she was quite insupportabile, having only 
been installed a week, during which she had smashed two piattini 
tondi, and sbocconcellato’ed the zuppiera. However, she was going 
to licenziare her this week, and get another, who might be better — 
“ ma, che lo so io ? ” This is the last occurrence I can recollect 
as I said good-bye to the Faustina. The priest walked with me to 
my carrozza, and on the way pooh-poohed the idea, which I recurred 
to, of any possible irregularity in the marriage. 

Now if I had known that it was this good man’s duty, as a 
priest, to ignore the existence of the municipal marriage and its 


JOSEPH YANCE 


411 


indispensable character (for without it no marriage is legal), I 
I should have avoided a grave mistake. Strange as it may seem, I 
never realized this point, and went on for years under the delu- 
j sion that the poor Annunziatina had been really legally married 
j to Beppino; although the false version of his name might have 
I invalidated the marriage. I remained in the dark by accident, 
i The slightest spark might have illuminated it — a trivial turn in 
j conversation — a passage in a newspaper! Any knowledge of an- 
j other Italian marriage would have cleared it up in an instant. 
What a many novels there must be that would have told all about 
it ! But no such chance occurred, and my only confidant was Hugh 
Hesprez, whose Indian experience was little likely to set him on 
iiis guard in points of Italian law. Moreover, when I told him 
the results of my visit to Florence, I assured him that I had made 
\ every enquiry ” and was perfectly satisfied that so far as the mar- 
riage itself went it was valid; but that I thought Beppino had 
intended to shuffle out under the false name, or had relied on 
i securing his Italian wife’s silence by threats of withdrawing sup- 
! plies. Things of this sort are often done, and succeeded in. I 
myself once knew a man who maintained two wives and two fam- 
ilies in England, never excited the suspicion of either, and when 
he was ruined in business and his friends “ got him out ’’ to Aus- 
tralia, transported both his households with him on the same boat, 

! one in the first class, the other in the steerage. That was genius ! 
But Beppino might have bullied poor Annunziatina into silence 
without genius. 

Wlien I returned to London after transacting various business 
at Milan I did not find the General. He had gone to Ireland on 
military business. I was not in the habit of keeping secrets from 
Lossie, but in this case I was in for a fib or two. So I determined 
to do justice both to all the truth I could tell, and all the lies I 
was obliged to tell. My story, as it came out, was that at Flor- 
ence I had come upon a six-weeks-old bambino both of whose par- 
ents were dead, and finding that it was named Cristoforo after 
some one I didn’t know, had re-named it Cristoforo after my own 
Daddy, and adopted it. So it would have his name and be Chris- 
topher Vance, or Vance. I said I had not gone to the bottom 
of the question of his parentage, and suspected that his mother, 
whose name was Vespucci, had not been well-treated by the father. 
In fact, every word I said was literally true; and had I only 
added that the father’s name was Joseph Thorpe, and that Mr. 
Thorpe was a great scoundrel, would have been unimpeachable. 
But I felt very guilty in spite of my motives, and had to say 


472 


JOSEPH VANCE 


over and over to myself, Oh, Lossie dear, my Lossie of the bygone 
times, my Lossie Janey loved as well as I, it is on your behalf 
I take this stain upon my conscience. You shall never know the 
wickedness of the brother you loved, if I can help it. Nor shall 
his child — that is your own flesh and blood, dear Loss; that is 
your father^s grandson as much as your own boy — ever be the worse 
for the loss of his name and the crime of his parent, if I can 
help it.” And I thought to myself what a terrible thing if there 
had been a posthumous child of the English marriage I ” For, mind 
you, I had then no idea that one was anticipated, and took it for 
granted that had there been I should have heard of it. I also 
accepted without question the Italian marriage as sound. But even 
without inheritance the shock of an eclairgissement both to Lossie 
and Sibyl would have been enough. 

So when Lossie threw a light on a certain preoccupation on her 
part, which seemed to me to prevent her taking enough interest 
in my adoption of Cristoforo, by suddenly saying to me, ‘‘ Pve 
never told you, Joe, but I suppose you’ve guessed, that there’ll be a 
baby,” I said to myself thank God for my well-intentioned sup- 
pressio veri! And had it been ten times as big I should have 
rejoiced. 

I suppose I in my turn looked preoccupied, for Lossie said. 

There, Joe, that’s just like you to take no interest in Beppino’s 
baby!” For Lossie was always half aware I loved her young 
brother languidly; and this time she looked quite tearful over it. 
Now suppose she had known whose baby Cristoforo was! 

I saw I should have to have some teeth out over this business. 
But then — ^Lossie wouldn’t ! 


CHAPTER LI 


A LETTER FROM A MAN OP THE WORLD. THE GENERAL’s SATCHEL. JOS 
ARRANGES FOR HIS START TO BRAZIL. BUT HE GOES TO SEE CRISTO- 
FORO AGAIN FIRST. HOW HE TOOK A WALK AT FIESOLE, WITHOUT 
JANEY. AND HOW HE HEARD THE WALDSTEIN SONATA ON THE 
TUSCAN HILLS. HOW CRISTOFORO TICKLED. 

When Sir Hugh Desprez came back from Ireland a few weeks 
later, I took the first opportunity of showing him the packet of 
letters I had brought from Italy. I had not undone them. As 
in all our colloquies on such matters, we were alone after every 
one else had gone to bed. I laid the packet on the Library table, 
and lit my cigar. There’s the letters. General,” I said. Then 
he also lighted up and we smoked in silence. The packet re- 
mained on the table untouched. He spoke first. 

You don’t seem to want to open them, Joe?” 

“I donH want. Besides, I have no right to. Now, you have. 
You’re his executor.” 

^‘Yes — ^but I’m not bound to read his love-letters. I don’t like 
the job, Joe.” 

One of us must ” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know.” So we smoked a little more. Then he said: 
“ These letters would throw a light on the way he managed to 
delay so long without exciting her suspicion, or perhaps would 
show he did not succeed in doing so. It would do us little good 
to know either.” 

“ None at all,” said 1. 

“We might be able to infer from them what he supposed his 
own legal position to be. But you were quite satisfied the wed- 
ding was regular?” 

“Only the false name. Otherwise all right.” 

“ I admit that I should like to know this : Did he entrap this 
girl into a marriage he knew he could shufile out of, or did he 
mean to stand by it if he was unsuccessful with Sibyl? It’s 
conceivable, I should like another opinion. But that’s impossible. 
Nobody can be trusted.” 


473 


.474 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


Nobody. My own opinion is that he believed he could disown 
any marriage of Giuseppe Vance’s — ^but also that he could ac- 
knowledge or claim it. The law would in every doubtful case 
go on the principle, ^ Heads the man wins, tails the woman 
loses.’ ” 

“ That is so. However, what we have to settle is — Shall we read 
these letters, or throw them in the fire ? ” 

Throw them in the fire. Here goes ! ” 

Half-a-minute, Joe! Don’t be rash! What do you say to 
looking at the last letter only, and seeing when he wrote it, and 
where ? ” 

“ I don’t mind anything you vote for, however indecisively. But 
left to myself I should burn the whole kit.” 

How one recollects little things! I can remember as Hugh cut 
the string of the packet of letters, that I thought to myself that 
that was the smallest penknife I had ever seen, and the hand that 
held it the largest and strongest. It comes out vividly now, five- 
and- twenty years afterwards! 

“Most likely they’re in order,” said he. “Yes — at one end 
October of this year — at the other, October of last. Let’s look 
at this last one — dated nowhere ! Is that somebody coming ? ” 

Yes, it was. It was Lossie, come down to look for something. 

What an atmosphere ! How you men can sit in it, I can’t imag- 
ine! Only my mother-of-pearl penknife. I left it on this table 
— never mind! The servants will find it to-morrow — lend me 
yours.” And the General, feeling in his pocket for his own, 
brought out the missing article. 

“ I must have picked it up off the table unconsciously,” said he. 
And Lossie departed with it, enjoining me not to keep Hugh up 
too late. 

When I heard her coming, I had hurriedly picked up the letters 
and pushed them into a little wallet or despatch case of the Gen- 
eral’s that was standing on the table. It was an almost invariable 
companion of his — ^was as well known to his friends as himself. 
— He had carried it about with him for years, and used to say 
he would be quite lost without it. 

“Now the letter!” said he. “You pushed them into the lining 
— my satchel’s got very old of late years — ^however, it’s got to 
last my time! Pull ’em all out ” 

I did, and separated them on the table. We took up the letter 
we had been looking at, or rather he did — and went on to read 
it. I watched his face as he read; the concentrating attention, 
the increasing grip of the strong muscles of his jaw, the veing 


JOSEPH VANCE 


475 


swelling more and more on the temples, the greater tension of 
the contracting brow. I knew now what Lossie had meant when 
she said the General’s anger was terrible, and why she turned pale 
when she spoke of it. 

When he had read through the letter he threw it over to me with 
an exclamation of anger very diificult to describe. “ That’s 
enough ! ” said he. 

It was. I shall never, I hope, again see so cowardly and mean 
a disclaimer of a solemn obligation. It was a repudiation of his 
marriage, alleging that his victim had been throughout conscious 
that it was invalid — ^that he had repeatedly told her that his real 
name was not Vance, and that he was not called Giuseppe in 
English. Had he ever imagined that she thought him in earnest 
he would have refused to make the concession he had made to 
her conscientious scruples. It was time to speak plain — the play 
was at an end. He should always fulfil all his real obligations 
to her, but others which he had entered into elsewhere compelled 
him to say farewell. It was very English Italian, which nad made 
it easy for the General to read. 

“ This was the letter the poor little thing got just before that 
last relapse,” said he. The pity that came in his voice with 
the words poor little thing ” was a relief to hear after the words 
and the sound that came before. I felt that Hugh was back 
again. 

“ Of course it killed her,” said I. And he nodded assent. And 
she never breathed a word of it to the other one — the cousin,” 
he went on. 

Not a word, apparently.” 

I tell you what, Joe,” said the General, giving himself a great 
shake, like a dog. “We don’t want to read any more of these 
letters. One’s enough.” 

“ One’s quite enough,” said 1. And we put them all on the fire 
together, and felt happier when we had no further choice of read- 
ing them. 

As we went upstairs (for I was staying on that night) 
Lossie was leaning over the banisters. “You ought to have been 
in bed long ago,” said her husband. And she replied, “ I thought 
I heard you roar, dear, some time ago — and I was afraid 
something was wrong. You weren’t angry with Joe, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“ Oh no — I wasn’t angry with Joe. I say. Loss, do remind me 
to get my old satchel mended — it will all come to pieces — and I 
iionldn’t stand having a new one!’* 


476 


JOSEPH VANCE 


How very strongly all the small details of this conversation 
come back to me! I have written down so many that are quite 
needless to my story. 

In the weeks that followed this I was conscious that our inter- 
view about the two babies, actual and prospective, had not left 
matters exactly as they were before. I knew that my new char- 
acter of having something to conceal, and being on the watch 
against enquiry, told upon my manner, and that Lossie noticed 
it. I did not know whether she would connect it with v/hat she 
had said of my indifference to her news about Sibyl. It was pain- 
ful; but I was only too glad not to rake the subject up, on any 
terms. I let the sleeping dog lie. 

Three months passed. I made my arrangements about going to 
Brazil. I had undertaken to investigate and report on the possi- 
bility of the great Engineering scheme to the Government, and 
if my report was favourable it was expected to carry great weight. 
I had given a good deal of attention to work of this class, which 
had rather ousted the fabrication of machines and weapons from 
my mind. Civil Engineering on a large scale is the most exciting 
work there is. If you want sleepless nights, construct bridges 
across torrents. But I donT think appeal was made to me be- 
cause I was credited with any special knowledge or skill; but 
because if I gave a favourable report. Capital would believe I 
had not accepted a bribe. Capital knows a lot about that sort 
of thing. 

So I was to go to Brazil in the autumn. I looked forward to 
it with — well! almost with — pleasure. It would be a complete 
change, and when I came back (I was to be away over six months) 
I hoped I should find the current of events coursing in a tranquil 
stream, and all the unhappiness and disquiet of the present time 
forgotten. The interim was a very busy one, for Bony and I, 
in view of contingencies, were scheming the conversion of our 
business into a Limited Company, and putting it on a secure foot- 
ing which the retirement of both or either would not endanger. I 
thought often of the conversation of long ago at Poplar Villa, 
when Dr. Thorpe suggested that I should take up Engineering 
seriously, and my Father undertook to jack up the roof of his 
works to make a top story for me. I could not bid the 
factory good-bye gladly, for was it not part of the old time? But 
that old time itself was slipping away. The slight — oh, so slight! 
— tension between me and Lossie had given me a new reminder 
that what was left must go in its turn. Nothing could be done 
—-for it was not safe to speak freely now as of old. I would 


JOSEPH VANCE 


477 


go to South America for a spell; things would get absorbed — 
superseded — somehow forgotten ! 

Meanwhile before I went away, I must just make one more; 
excursion to Italy. Another interview with our Milanese allies 
would do no harm, and I wanted very much to see whether Cris- 
toforo was really going to be as like his father as had been 
alleged; for I was afraid if he was I should lose interest in him. 
I told the General why I was going, but said as little as possible 
to Lossie. The fact is, I shrank from creating a position of dis- 
simulation. 

So at the end of May I put myself in light marching order 
and took a Cook’s ticket for Florence. Lossie was too preoccupied 
with Sibyl and the impending arrival to ask many questions. I 
said I was going to Milan and should try to go round by Flor- 
ence and see my little protege,” and she said, “Do go and come 
back and tell us all about him — it would be so nice to hear.” 
But I felt she was being distracted by Cristoforo’s coming cousin 
— ^however, if she hadn’t been she might have felt my duplicity 
in my voice. 

It was a very different Florence from the Florence of last Jan- 
uary. The population had found its voice and was singing about 
its amove and its cuore and its Maria. Very small boys indeed, 
who had no business to know anything about such matters, were 
singing about their cuore and their Maria in tremendous 
voices that their organization did not seem to warrant. They 
were audible hours before they became visible, and then were 
only just perceptible to the naked eye. But they filled the vault 
of heaven with particulars about their cuore, all to the same 
general sort of Tuscan tune that ends in its own special cadence, 
and suits all moods of the singer. Such was the genial influ- 
ence of the sun, that even the butcher sang about his beloved as 
he slit a whole ox down the middle and converted it into a hideous 
V, that half filled his shop. Florence was determined to enjoy 
the cool weather (about 80 degrees in the shade) while it lasted; 
because it was soon going to be really warm, and we should only 
be able to work in the early morning and the late evening, and 
should lie fast asleep on the pavement in the coolest corner we 
could find, as happy as if it was really bed, for an hour at least 
on each side of mezzogiorno. And then after that it would be hot- 
ter still, and we should be able to do very little except fan our- 
selves and pray for a thunderstorm. Meanwhile we would be 
merry, and the frogs and the nightingales and the grasshoppers 
would help. 


478 


JOSEPH VANCE 


The waiter at the Minerva lamented, apropos of the deluge of 
roses that flooded the whole place, that it was a pity I hadn’t 
come three weeks ago — the flowers had been very fine this year, 
lie treated the present supply as a decrepitude. I have noticed 
that I never get anywhere in the nick of anything; it’s only other 
I)eople do that. I was reflecting whether I could adjust a remark 
to this effect in Italian, when the waiter perceived by magic that 
I should ultimately want a legno, and said should he call it now. 
I assented and he said Pst! to the hall porter, who called out 
fiacchere! to space; from which appeared a carriage under an 
awning and a driver under an umbrella to whom I suggested 
Fiesole, as before, if he had confidence in his havallo. And he 
said che! che! 

If Florence had altered since January, Cristoforo had altered 
still more. He had become as pretty a bambino as one often sees 
even in Italy. If he ever was like, his father the likeness had left 
him. A pair of magnificent black eyes, a stupendous voice, a prom- 
ising head of hair and a performing pair of legs, very choice soles 
to his feet and an unimpeachable nape to his neck — that’s Cris- 
toforo as I realized him when I came to examine him in detail. 
As to the creases in his legs, language is powerless — this applies 
especially to one inside his thigh, in which the human finger van- 
ished. He welcomed his adoptive father with an accolade, pro- 
fessing (through his agent, the Signorina Faustina) to remember 
having met him in early boyhood. He was loquacious in his own 
way, but he only used words that ended in k or g, omitting 
all except the last letter. He laughed a good deal at his own wit, 
and held me firmly by one nostril during our interview. 

I had intended, if he had turned out like Beppino, to accept 
him as a duty, but avoid him as a pleasure. As he seemed so 
satisfactory and pulpy, and obviously going to be his poor mother’s 
own son (as I saw from a portrait), I determined to pass a little 
time in his society, especially as I was going to be six months away. 
So I told the ragazza to pay the driver for me, and leave my 
valigia at the Albergo and I would stay on for a day or two. 
This was a new handmaid altogether— in fact, the second since the 
coffee-cup smasher. 

I had experience of the inevitable extension into further fiction 
which follows any adventure in that direction, especially on the 
part of inexperienced persons like myself. I was not a clever liar. 
I had to invent a good deal to account for the absence of any 
communications from Beppino’s executor (for whose existence I 
liad vouched), and to rely almost without reserve on the Faustina’s 


JOSEPH VANCE 


479 


ignorance of English customs. I fabricated an England to suit 
the occasion — made it a country the like of which does not, I 
trust, exist anywhere. The way in which noi altri lived apart from 
each other and our families was, I said, a thing no Italian could 
understand. To me who knew them well it was a matter of no 
surprise that Beppino’s few surviving relatives had not shown 
any vital interest in his marriage. I hinted that they were all 
Protestanti, and that feeling ran high among them against Cat- 
tolici. I did not make broad, bold statements on these lines, but 
poisoned the Eaustina^s mind with hypnotic suggestions. I pres- 
ently saw' my way to introducing the possibility that the famiglia 
might make a descent on Cristoforo, bear him off, and educate him 
as a Protestant. After this the Faustina showed a marked dis- 
cretion in approaching the subject of Beppino^s relatives. I told 
her I had his executor’s full permission and approval in the course 
1 had taken, and that I myself should always be guided by con- 
sideration of what his mother would have wished. I therefore 
hoped she would do nothing to provoke intervention on the part 
of his family. This she promised readily — unless the reverend 
father advised otherwise. I felt I had made that safe enough! 

The Faustina gave me some lunch as before, and I remained 
through the heat of the day in the company of herself, the balia, 
and their charge. Towards sundown I turned out for a walk, and 
w'andered along the road on the hill-face, looking over the glory 
of the sunset light on the world of roofs and domes in the plain 
below; over the distant Arno, a mirror giving back the rosy gold 
of the sky beyond the purple Apennines of Carrara. The bells 
were clanging in the tower of San Domenico — for Vespers, I sup- 
pose; but I never know — and the bells of a mule cart toiling up 
a road I could not see were ringing for their vespers too. And 
these meant, for the two mules and the supplementary donkey 
(probably it was a stone cart), rest in a little while; and for the 
human creature in charge, who sang short lengths of stornelli at 
long intervals, a supper of black bread and pasta and thin Chianti 
and a long cool night in bed. 

What would the magic city in its glory have been to Janey 
and to me, could we have seen it together? To me it was noth- 
ing now — nothing but the city she would have seen. And the 
purple Carrarese peak, darker and darker against the orange glow 
of the horizon, was nothing now, to me, but the marble mountain 
we should have passed, she and I, just before the railway brought 
iis to the city with the leaning tower, where we should have stopped. 
And San Domenico appealed te me in vain, and I cared not a 


480 


JOSEPH VANCE 


straw whether the monk I could see, like a fat white maggot, in 
the Saint^s walled garden below, went in to Vespers or not Eor 
his bells were only the bells Janey would have heard but did not 
But the jangle of the team told of tired beasts she would have 
pitied, and of a tired man who worked long hours at low pay, 
and could, for all that, sing. So when I came across him further 
on, I conversed with him and asked him if he had bambini. And 
as he had several, I asked him to buy them some piccolezze as 
a present from me, and gave him, to his great surprise, some- 
thing over his day’s pay to buy them with. This was because 
Janey would have done so ! How little the great billows that were 
rolling on still, to dash themselves to death against the cliffs of 
San Joaquim, knew of this far-off echo of their wild work of 
two years ago, among the hills of Tuscany! 

Eor the whole world had now become to me the world Janey 
and I should have lived in together. It had an interest for me 
still though — a languid one — on its own account. I could still 
speculate on why that blazing star in the gold over there seemed 
to me to be definitely spoken of by Beethoven, as much so as 
though a Sonata were a catalogue. And then the great triumphant 
phrase of the Waldstein sounded like a sudden trumpet-note in 
my memory, and a weight went off my heart and left me free. 

But why had my heart been weighted more than its wont? 
Simply because Janey would have enjoyed Cristoforo just as much 
as I did. I felt that that young beginner, as my Daddy would 
have called him, would become the baby Janey and I should have 
pampered and encouraged together, had she been here. And then 
he would wind his fat little self round my heart, and die in 
teething or get diphtheria, or tumble into a water-butt. Well! I 
should soon be in South America, anyhow! I went back to the 
albergo and fed, and wrote letters. Of course I wrote to Lossie 
and described Cristoforo, and was glad to be able (entrenched as 
it were behind the Post) to show a free sympathy about Sibyl’s 
affairs, without fear of face-to-face catechism on mine. 

I was very sorry when the time came to say good-bye to my 
figlioccio, as I called him — but I believe it was the wrong word, 
as I did not hold him at the font. He kissed me affectionately 
at parting, or his agent said he did. I should have said splut- 
tered over — ^however, it was well-meant, and answered all purposes. 
I could feel his powerful hands in my beard, tickling, all the way 
to the Station. 


CHAPTER LH 


HEBB PFLEIDEBER DISAPPBOVES OF BRAZIL. HOW JOE, YEABS AFTER, 
WENT TO LOOK FOR POPLAR VILLA, AND GRASS THEN GREW WHERE 
TROY TOWN STOOD. HOW BEPPINO’s SECOND SON (OB THEREABOUTS) 
WAS BORN. THE NEED OF BROWNING. OF A VILLA FOR LOSSIE AT 
SORRENTO, NOT FLORENCE. HOW THE GENERAL NEVER UNDERSTOOD 
THE DOCTOR, MORELS THE PITY ! JOE^S LAST HAPPY EVENING IN 
ENGLAND. HOW HE CALLED ON AUNT IZZY. AND OF MR. SPENCER. 
NOLLY SEES JOE OFF AT EUSTON. THE SEA, ONCE MORE ! 

I AM interrupted — ^just as I was going to get my Cook’s ticket 
timbratoed for Milan (but this is only a fagon-de-parler ) — by my 
chess-friend, Herr Pfleiderer. He is rather late, and I had given 
him up. But there is a half -finished game on the board, and we 
shall conclude shortly after midnight if all goes well. I have laid 
him a wager that I will draw two games out of three, in which 
he shall always open King’s Gambit, and I shall always refuse 
the Gambit, checking with Queen at Rook’s fifth. He is very 
confident he will jegmade me effry dime. Very likely. 

I foresee that I shall soon have to break it to the Herr that 
the time has come for our very last game, and that I shall be 
returning to Brazil. Suppose I do so, this evening! I may 
as well. 

So as soon as the clangour of Miss Austin subsides, I mention 
to him that I have given notice for Michaelmas, and that I shall 
probably clear out and start even earlier. Why the young woman 
cannot place a tray with bottles and glasses and sugar and lemons 
on the table without producing the effect of an express train pass- 
ing through our station without stopping, I do not know. But 
I take advantage of the calm that follows to make my revelation. 
The Herr immediately adopts the tactics of his nation. 

^‘You do nod wand to go to Brazil. It is nod a blaze beople 
should go to. It is bankruhhed. There is a Revolution. You have 
no vriends in Brazil.” 

Yes, I have — I’ve an adopted son there, a fine young fellow of 
twenty.” 

Then you should not gum to Europe. It is absurd to gum 

481 


482 


JOSEPH VANCE 


to blazes and go back. I shall dague the bawn. And you jeg with 
the roog. And I inderboze knide. Why haff you an adopted son? 
Why is he not your own son ? I do not ligue adopted jildren.’^ 

Herr Plleiderer always treats all other people’s affairs as hav- 
ing been referred to him. We finished our game without his mak- 
ing any concession to Brazil. “ We gannod blay again for a vord- 
nide,” says he, as he makes ready to go. “ I am going to Berlin.” 
And he says good-bye, and I go back to my narrative. 

The tickling of Master Cristoforo’s ridiculous fingers in my 
beard died away by the time I reached the railway, but the mem- 
ory of it lasted me all the way to Chelsea, where a visit to Bony 
on the evening of my arrival and a collision with his numerous 
progeny of all ages, rather swamped Cristoforo. I had some mis- 
givings as to telling Jeannie about him, but I had to do so; be- 
cause they would have heard of it in the end, and thought it 
a shame I hadn’t told. But I treated it as merely a good-natured 
act on my part, not due to any special attraction in Cristoforo 
himself, but only to my having come by chance on a very young 
orphan with my Father’s prsenomen who seemed to me in need 
of a caretaker. I had a whim not to let the little party die of 
want, I said, and if I paid his piper why should he not bear my 
name? Then why not have him over here?” said Jeannie. Be- 
cause, I replied, I didn’t want him to be choked in a London fog. 

“ Shan’t know what to do without you, old chap ! ” said Bony 
as we sat on late in the evening. 

“ How’s your old governor ? ” said I, skipping a few bars of 
the conversation. Bony tapped his head, and then shook it, which 
mean that old Macallister was failing rapidly (as I knew, not with- 
out aid from whiskey), and I drew my inferences. 

I shan’t find you here, when I come back, Bony,” said I. 

“Probably not. But you’ll find me in Perthshire, if I’m alive 
and the old boy isn’t. Poor old Sawney ! ” For that was the namo 
he went by, even with his sons. 

“ I wonder if I shall ever come to Perthshire.” For I was worm- 
eaten with sad misgivings. 

“What’s the matter, man alive?” said Bony. “Why shouldn’t 
you come to Perthshire? Who’s going to keep you in Brazil? If 
I didn’t think that railway concern sure to come to grief I wouldn’t 
let you go.” 

“ Oh, my dear boy, I was only thinking of the chances of Fate. 
'Tilings are so untrustworthy. I shall be back in the spring.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


483 


^ Well, Lady Desprez won^t allow you to make a bolt, Joe. That^s 
one comfort, at any rate I ” And one discomfort when Bony said 
this was my reflection that Beppino’s sins had left a slur on my 
happiness when at Poplar Villa, which might have to be lived 
down. 

“ They talk of going to live at Sorrento,’^ I said. “ All but the 
hot months, of course. The General thinks of buying a viUa there 
if he can get it. They would come to London in the summer, 
though.’’ 

“ What’s going to become of the old lady ? ” asked Bony. Ho 
meant Aunt Izzy. My memory of his question reminds me that 
the poor old soul has disappeared from my narrative. And nat- 
urally enough, for the evidence of Aunt Izzy’s existence to our 
senses had partly disappeared, and with it had developed an instal- 
ment of the Logic that was to affirm her total non-existence as 
soon as touch and sight ceased as well as hearing. For the old 
lady had given up her battle against deafness — ^had surrendered 
at discretion, and seldom or never made her presence manifest. So 
she slips out of this story, as she had very nearly slipped out of 
' our lives. All that was wanted now was that we should neither 
see nor touch her; and then she wouldn’t be there at all, and we 
[ should disbelieve in her and say requiescat in pace. But I am 
leaving Bony’s question unanswered. 

She’ll live on at the Villa, of course. She needn’t be alone. 
You never saw Edith Sant? Party of forty — going deaf herself.”' 

‘‘ Never seen her. But I’ve heard of her from J eannie, and I 
understood she wasn’t quite ” 

She isn’t quite. But she’s a very old friend, and as she’s 
getting deafer and deafer, is learning finger-language. She’ll live 
with old Miss Thorpe, and they’ll have theological discussions, and 
seances.” 

Oh,” said Bony, ^Ms that their game?” I said it was one 
of their games; and wondered whether two Bogies on the other 
side whose evidence on this had ceased altogether, would find a 
new game, or fall back on that one! As for the poor old Aunt, 
I heard indirectly that she only ceased to be tangible and visible on 
this side some four years ago. She died at a good old age at Pop- 
lar Villa, in spite of the plague-pit underneath it, having just lived 
to the end of the last renewal of the lease, which she had made 
herself. 

Poplar Villa is gone now. I would have faced seeing it, how- 
ever sadly, had I been in time. But shortly after my return I drove 
down our High Koad to Wimbledon, and it was all swept away; 


484 


JOSEPH VANCE 


and on its site were accommodated a Board School and a new 
street that was to develop the ripe building land behind, where I 
remembered Nolly playing cricket. A row of so-called cottages 
that were not cottages at all were on their way down one side of 
this road, and I went into one that was to let, and found to my 
horror that it was two flats, and I might have the lower one for 
seven shillings a week. A very small boy of eight who was eating 
an unripe pear informed me that this house was better than Foley’s 
(?) next door, as there was a fizzing tree in the back garden. He 
took me out through smells, to the back yard. And there was 
my tree of the years long gone. But there was no green lawn now, 
and the whetstone of Samuel rang no more in the early summer 
mornings. Did Samuel ever have a new scythe, I wonder, or did 
the thin blade vanish in some other hand? 

I gave the small boy sixpence, and he threw away his mumbled 
end of the pear, and ran to purchase something better; rousing the 
neighbourhood as he went with calls to favoured friends to come 
and share his luck. He was a generous boy, and I liked him. But 
1 must get on with my narrative. 

I had of course seen no Times advertisements up at Eiesole; 
so I was unaware on my arrival that, on the day I left, the widow 
of the late lamented Joseph Randall Thorpe had had a son at 
the town residence of her father, Bulstrode Curzon Fuller Perce- 
val, M. P., of Park Lane, and Parrettsdown, Somersetshire. I 
thought it very likely though, and was not surprised when Jeannie 
told me. She had heard it from Maisie Thorpe, and that all was 
well. So we had left it alone and gone on to Cristoforo. 

But I nursed a little flame of pleasure in my heart at knowing 
what a happiness this would be to Lossie. When I went over to 
the Villa next evening I had the luck to come on Lossie in a 
great state of exultation. The perfect sincerity of our rejoicing 
over the event on both sides had only one trifling flaw — that one 
of us put more side on than was necessary; and the other, know- 
ing this fact, accepted it as no more than normal. If we had had 
a tiff, this would have been right and nice. But there had been 
none. It was like the case of a clean glass upside down on a 
shelf that you take down to drink out of. You know it’s clean — 
oh dear, yes! But it won’t be any the worse for a good rinse- 
out. We had our good rinse-out, and removed from our hearts 
the slight soreness that had never been there at all. Of course not ! 

These niceties call for Browning, to put them shortly for us. 
iThe man that wrote ‘‘strange — the very way love began! I as 


JOSEPH VANCE 


485 


little understand love’s decay ! ” at any rate understood enough 
to explain this little flutter of counter-consciousness, could we have 
employed him. 

Well, Joe! ” said Lossie. So now we can all breathe freely; ” 
— over Sibyl, of course — ^nothing else ! And now you can tell 
me all about young Cristoforo.” 

Unfortunately the Turk was present, and her smallest brother. 
A good many difficulties arose in giving the explanations of Cristo- 
foro that were demanded. Those who have had to confront and 
outflank young children on this subject of their provenance will 
understand what I mean. If your imagination can supply the 
conversation antecedent to the Turk’s home-question, Which are 
the Papa, then, in Italy ? ” you will see how we became involved. 
Anthropomorphism helped us at our need, although the Turk had 
to be said “ shish, darling ” to, for questioning the skill of her 
Maker. 

“ When I saw Bony to-day. Loss,” I said, when quiet ensued, 
"he told me Phemie, the youngest but one, had adopted her elder 
sister’s best doll, after hearing of Cristoforo. The riot was hushed 
down, but only by assuring them that mammas could not adopt the 
children of other mammas still living, and only Papas in any case. 
He told them Dolls had no Papas, being bought at shops.” 

" I’m glad I haven’t got to do the next explanations in that quar- 
ter,” said Lossie. " But now do tell me more about Cristoforo.” 

So I told her a great deal more — all quite true! And nothing 
false that was not mere repetition of what I had told before. I 
recurred to Cristoforo to the exclusion of other topics that knocked 
at the door, in order that I might not seem to shrink from par- 
ticulars. I felt I was improving as a story-teller. 

" I shall never see an organ-grinder now, Joe, without thinking 
of you. What do you mean to do with him ? ” 

"Bring him up as an organ-grinder, naturally. We shall have 
plenty of time to thinlc about that when he’s done teething. What 
is Sibyl going to call her boy ? ” 

" She would like him to be Beppino — ^because poor Bep was so 
much Beppino to her. But her father says it’s un-English. No 
doubt it is. Most likely it will be either Joseph Curzon, or Kan- 
dall Curzon. Let’s go in the garden. Come along, children. 
Come and help to water the roses.” 

For the roses were still due at Balham, though the deluge- 
residuum of the Florence crop had been held a contemptible rem- 
nant by the Albergo Minerva. We shouldn’t be in our full glory 
(of a few dozen blooms) for a month yet But I transplanted myj 


486 


JOSEPH VANCE 


niiud from Fiesole to London S. W. without much difficulty; say- 
ing very little though about my recent experience of flowers, lest 
I should seem to crow over Upper Tooting. 

“I think Hugh's got the Sorrento Villa, Joe,’’ said Lossie. 

‘‘ Can’t we have the garden-pump, Samuel ? ” 

“ We could have it at once,” said Samuel. But it seemed it 
wouldn’t work,” though morally it was a perfect pump. 

‘‘ There ain’t any defect in the pump itself, only a screw’s been 
wore, and loosened off the ’andle-plate. So when you rises, the 
coverin’ comes up bodily. Otherwise you might say it was in 
fair order.” I thought of the character my Father had given to 
pumps, long ago. So long ago! It seemed longer than it does 
now. 

“ It wouldn’t take above a minute, or maybe two at most, to 
connect up the hose, and give you any supply — ^why. Lord, it could 
be done while I was a-tellin’ you, only ” 

“ Only what, Samuel ? ” 

Only it’s been took away to mend. Promised back it is on 
Tuesday — but there’s no reliance.” 

Lossie could'laugh still, and did it. And a new generation of 
birds in the greenhouse did as their forbears did twenty-odd years 
before, and broke out in responsive song. I knew we should 
have to fall back on the common watering-pot,” said she. “ No 
engineering’s any use, Joe, you’re all alike ! ” I felt she was 
really the old Lossie, and was glad to be happy. For if Janey sees 
me now, said I to myself, she’ll be glad too. It was the nicest 
little bit of time I had had for some while; and the children 
enjoyed it too, helping. The pots of water that the Turk did 
not tip over on the garden path, or on Desiree and a new Irish 
poplin she was making a tea-gown of for Lossie, and brought us out 
to show the braiding on, found their way either on to their mother, 
or their uncle Joe, or the rose-trees. It was Arcadia, and when 
Hugh came in, also jubilant, and announced that the Villa at Sor- 
rento was an accomplished fact, I was quite sorry, as we had 
to go in to get ready for dinner and it was near the children’s 
bedtime. 

^‘You’ve really settled about the villa at Sorrento?” said I to 
the General, as we smoked in the evening, out in the garden. 

“ It is as good as settled. I take it for three years at a rental, 
with the refusal of the freehold. It’s not to be sold over our heads. 
Perhaps I shall end my days there — my days in this world. You 
see I am to all intents and purposes out of harness now, and I’ve 
seen a deal of service in my time. I’m turned sixty.” 


JOSEPH VANCE 


487 


Could you be called out again on active service ? ” 

“ Oh dear, yes I But of course it would be optional, practically. 
I I could excuse myself on the score of antiquity.” 

“ But should you ? ” 

JS ot if .£ thought I could be of any use.” 
i Any one who did not know Sir Hugh Desprez as I did might 
I have suspected him of affectation in talking thus of his antiquity. 

Turned sixty” did not prevent his seeming at the very prime of 
his natural life. Men have different primes. To see him as he 
stood there that evening in the half-light of the moon and sunset, 
one would have said no further maturity was possible; but that 
as the slight touch of coming grey in the hair was lost in the mixed. 
' gleam, no present decadence was visible. He retained to the full 
the flavour (as it might be called) of not being in uniform, and 
not being on horseback. Except for the gray, and that thirteen 
years of absorption had told upon the lip scar, he was the same 
man that had looked so pityingly into that mirror at Oxford. Five 
years after that evening on the lawn, when at a few hours’ notice 
' he started for India, to join the army in Afghanistan, there was 
not a word of misgiving in Lossie’s letter that reached me at 
I Rio Grande about his age; only about the reckless way in which 
i he exposed himself needlessly to danger. Probably you know that 
i he never returned from that expedition. 

“ I’m glad about this baby of Sibyl’s,” said he. It won’t stand 
in the way of her marrying again.” Then some brain-wave passed 
between us, for I feel sure his next words came for my sake. 

She’s quite young, you see — and think how little she had of him ! 
Deduct for the six months they were separated, in which he ne- 
gotiated his other marriage, and a solid twelvemonth really spans 
the whole.” 

I shall be uneasy,” said I, about it all. Not morally, because 
I consider I am giving Cristoforo a new birthright in exchange 
for the birthwrong I am acquiescing in. I mean I shall be afraid 
of a big burst-up.” 

My dear boy,” said the General. “ I only wish there were as 
little chance of some other legitimacies I know of being flawed 
as there is of this. Cristoforo won’t find it out ” 

He’s very sharp ! ” 

‘‘No doubt I But he has to attend to the Commissariat. You 
can’t do two things at once. As for any one else, trust his motheF s 
family to do nothing that will stop the supplies. And even if they 
were ever to identify Giuseppe Vance with Joseph Randall Thorpe, 
the false name might invalidate the marriage.” 


488 


JOSEPH VANCE 


“ But Giuseppe and Joseph are the same name — and I thought 
that in England at least, the nome di famiglia ” 

“Didn’t count? It would be a doubtful point. But I don’t 
believe any Italian contadino family would run the risk of get- 
ting their daughter’s marriage, which is now held legal — isn’t 
it?” 

“ Oh, certainly ! ” 

“ Getting it thrown into ambiguity-land to secure — ^to secure 
what? They would have no object ” 

“ I see your point. Well ! — I won’t fidget about it.” 

“ And as for your own share in it ! Why, my dear boy,” and 
the General put his arm round my shoulders, schoolboy-wise, as 
we walked on the lawn in the dry, warm night air, “ what does 
your connection with the whole affair amount to? You have had 
the knowledge of the deed of a damned scoundrel forced upon you, 
and are keeping a painful silence for the sake of its victims. And 
you are providing the principal surviving victim with a better 
father than Nature had given him.” 

“ Ma che vuole ? ” said I, imitating the Tuscan letter we had 
read together. We laughed, and Lossie said out of the old Nursery 
window above, “ You two seem very merry down there in the moon- 
light. What’s the joke?” I forget the reply. 

When Hugh said “ damned scoundrel ” I felt his words tighten 
the muscles of the arm on my shoulder. I thought of the three- 
year-old little Joe looking at books with me up in that very Nur- 
sery, and there was Lossie at the window ! 

“ I hope Bep isn’t damned, sine die, for all that,” said I. And 
the General said very gravely, “ His Eather may forgive him — 
if he knew not what he did,” and then we took a turn or two, 
and I would fain have forgotten him. But he hung about the 
mind of my companion. 

“ I never quite made him out,” said he. “ I know you and the 
Doctor accounted for him by some form of backward growth which 
I never rightly understood; though Thorpe often talked of it. 
Perhaps you and he saw Beppino the man very little. I saw him 
more in his man’s character — especially when we were at Sorrento, 
and after. Sometimes when a man goes on living a great deal 
at home as he did, he gets a sort of double character — ^his home 
self harks back on his childhood, his other self looks ahead.” 

“Dr. Thorpe didn’t mean that. He meant that he had never grown i 
— ^himself! His intellectual powers and his body had matured, 
but his spirit remained a baby. If that was so, an overwhelming 
acces of the passion of passions — ^what he called Love — would 


JOSEPH VANCE 


489 


Bweep the baby will before it, and employ the mature intellect to 
compass its ends,” But it occurred to me, as I said this, that we 
might find excuses for almost anything if we insisted on the ex- 
istence of a soul or spirit that was neither mind nor body, and 
laid all our bad actions at the door of the latter. However, I 
would give Beppino the benefit of the doubt, and hoped (rather 
chillily, I admit) that he would be able to expiate his guilt and 
start fair on the ground that in some sense he “knew not what 
he did.” Perhaps the ecclesiastics of Jerusalem for whom divine 
forgiveness was first asked on that ground, would have behaved 
otherwise had their souls been better grown. But I did not say 
this to the General. For to him as to many another noble man 
I have known any reference to the events of Calvary as occur- 
rences that actually happened, was distasteful if not painful. They 
were not History, but Scripture, and broadly speaking might be 
considered to have happened on Sunday. 

“ I never understood the Doctor,” said he ; “ nor he me ! I used 
to tell him so, and that I was just an old-fashioned Christian, and 
my Bible was enough for me. And he would reply, ^ Well, Hugh, 
Christianity is the best working hypothesis of Life, so far.’ And 
I once wanted him — it was only a few days before his death — to 
tell me more exactly what he thought about it, and he was telling 
me, when unfortunately Violet came in, and he stopped short.” 

How well I could imagine it! The General and I chatted a 
little longer on the lawn, as there was no Violet to silence us, and 
then went in and talked about the children with Lossie. 

I have always counted that evening my last happy evening in 
England. For in the two months that passed before I started for 
New York on my way to Kio I was desperately busy, for one 
thing. For another, the General’s family absorbed Lossie and 
her children, and when not in Pall Mall (as was very much the 
case) the General himself. A turn at the seaside put the finishing 
touch on our restrictions, and though I saw Lossie to say good-bye, 
it was one of those unsatisfactory good-byes under protest, when 
a pretence is made by both that they are sure to see each other 
again, and they know quite well they are not, and are sorry; 
yet have a sneaking gladness at avoiding the pain of a real fare- 
well. I think I must have known at heart that it was one, by 
the way I hugged the children. Kandall, the eldest, a great big 
boy home from school, was too proud and manly to be hugged; 
but not to cry in a corner because Uncle Joe was going away for 
ever so long. He and I were great friends, though I have men- 


490 JOSEPH VANCE 

tioned him very little. The Turk wished to accompany me and 
defy Society. 

Fate was unkind also about Bony and his wife. Old Sawney 
might just as well have died three months later, instead of taking 
them away from me to witness his final adieu to the whiskey bottle, 
and leaving Chelsea lonely. He summoned them too on a false 
pretence that he was in extremis and then rallied briskly, and kept 
them hanging about for six weeks or more. So I saw very little 
of them. 

I think I must have disbelieved in the date of my return, or 
I should not have gone to Poplar Villa to say good-bye to it, when 
no one was there but the old Aunt. Edith Sant had come on tem- 
porarily and acted as the Medium at the seances in which I was 
the spirit and Aunt Izzy the mortal, or vice versa. Communication 
was by fingers as far as Miss Thorpe went. The phenomena were 
unconvincing, and I wouldn’t stop to lunch, thank you, and said 
good-bye. I walked out once more into the garden and looked 
at the pear-crop, said good-bye to Samuel, and came back through 
the door my dear old Dad and I had wiped our boots at. And 
then the carriage gate swung to, and its latch overpassed its mark, 
and hesitated to and fro as a latch that would fain avoid closing 
on an old friend for the last time. It did it in the end though, 
and I came away with the web of pain in my eyes and temples, j 
and vague misgiving in my heart ; thinking how when I first came f 
out of that gate Lossie ran down the steps and gave me cake. And 
now — I was not going back to my Mother! nor to Janey in Chelsea 
— only to her empty house. ; 

However, there was her Father, poor old boy I I went and said 
good-bye a good deal to him, and made a solemn promise to come ! 
back in six months. That promise I ranked as my great achieve- 
ment in falsehood, next after my fibs about Cristoforo. Dear little | 
Cristoforo! How I did hope he was assimilating that balia at a : 
great pace. But I didn’t mean to be false outright— I really meant i 
to come back rather later than I said — two months or so. How- 
ever, I never saw my father-in-law again. He joined the Choir 
of Invisible Solicitors some seven years later. In fact he only sur- 
vived the news of the death of his eldest daughter (Lossie’s great : 
friend Sarita) a few weeks. It was after that that I heard from 
NoUy, who was his partner in business and his executor, that a 
box with Janey’s name on it had come from Ceylon with other : 
effects of Sarita’s, and that he would prefer that I should open it, : 
I replied to this (I quite believed it) that I should come to Eng- | 
land shortly, and would send for it. Thinking to save trouble I 


JOSEPH VANCE 


491 


wrote at the time to the Pantechnicon people, enclosing a writ- 
ten delivery order to be signed by them and given up to Nolly, 
to call for the box and keep it with my other things until my 
return. That reminds me that Nolly could find me now, if he 
wanted to, by going to the Pantechnicon for my address. He would 
only have to hunt up a receipt thirteen or fourteen years old ! 

It reminds me also to mention that it was during this lonely 
interval in Chelsea, before my departure, that I braced myself 
up to do what I knew must be done in the end, and broke up my 
home — Janey’s home! It was easier for me that none was there 
to see or speak to me. The burial of the furniture in the Pan- 
technicon was, however, the most I could make up my mind to ; 
I could not pick and choose and say I will send this here and 
that there. So there I interred them, and there they will remain, 
for all I can see, until the annual payment ceases ; and then they 
will go to auction, to pay expenses, and persons of prey will snap 
them up for an old song. But the tune of that old song will be 
none of those that Janey played. Those are all gone now, unless 
indeed some echo of them mixes in the music of the seas that 
break for ever against the rocks of St. Joaquim, and almost reach 
the little cenotaph above; on which one word alone, her name, is 
written. 

I last remember, in that London of my old life, the face of 
Nolly, who came to see me off at Euston. He is almost the only 
one of all I have seen since — ^just a minute by that chance that 
I told you of. Oh, how I longed to take the hand of Lossie’s 
brother — the hand that bade me Godspeed that day at Euston 
Station, twenty years ago! He would have been himself to me, 
as of old; for I doubt if he knew much ever of the cause of 
the rift between me and Lossie. He only thought I had slid away, 
as folk do, in life. But I should have waked a many wolves in 
my renewal of the past. Better to let them lie. It would all be 
right in the end. 

The sun went down on a stormy sea as I lost sight of land on 
the Cunarder, bound for New York. Yet I was not thinking of 
whether I should return or no, but of the endless rolling billows 
under the great cliffs of Portugal, and the lonely cenotaph upon 
the hilL 


CHAPTER Lm 


I WHAT JOE HAS BEEN DRIVING AT. HE HAS CRISTOFORO OUT TO HIM IN 
BRAZIL. HOW THE GENERAL DIED LIKE A HERO AT MAIWAND. LOSSES 
GOES TO FLORENCE. A PLEASANT LETTER FROM HER AT VILLA MAGON- 
CINI. ANOTHER, WITH A PLEASANT POSTSCRIPT. JOE TAKES A RIDE 
AND SHOOTS A HALF-BREED. ACCIDENT TO CRISTOFORO. JOE's AN- 
SWER TO THE LETTER. MORE CORRESPONDENCE, TERRIBLE TO JOE. 
ALL IS ENDED. “ THIS IS FOR LOSSIE.” 

I SHALL soon come to a point at which I shall account my self- 
imposed task finished. Before I complete what little I have left 
to tell, let me try to make it clear to my imaginary reader (as 
it is to myself) what it was that originally I proposed to do — 
that 1 meant to cover a quire or two of foolscap with — that has 
spread out over the best part of a ream. 

I have lived two distinct lives; one of thirty-odd years in Eu- 
rope; one of twenty-odd in South America and the States. You 
must realize that the latter is, or was till two years ago, my life 
of the present; one of excitement and strenuous activities; of con- 
test and effort; a life sometimes in the open with hunters and 
fishers; even of military service and peril of death among bar- 
barians. It has nothing to do with the story, which is an effort 
on my part to think back, now as I approach the end, into the 
dear old past this stormy twenty years has nearly effaced. 

Had I not come away from Brazil, it never would have occurred 
to me to make this effort. Nor would it have been possible with 
my surroundings to bring back to my mind all I have recalled and 
written. In fact, had it not been for the first clues, supplied 
by Lossie’s letters which I got in the box from the Pantechnicon, 
I should have found it hard to make a start. It was those let- 
ters that brought it all back. But my intention has throughout 
been to stop my narrative abruptly at the end of my European 
life, if only because I am coming to an end of the undertaking 
that brought me back to England. I think I have mentioned the 
history of musical instruments I am engaged on, which has caused 
me to frequent the British Museum reading-room for two years 
past. It was begun some time since in New York; and when 

492 


JOSEPH VANCE 


493 


three years ago a fracture of the left arm, following on a period 
of great strain and fatigue, made it really necessary that I should 
take serious repose, I took it in hand again at Rio Grande, which 
has been my Brazilian anchorage, and was so exasperated at my 
want of documents that I saw I must either give it up or come 
to Europe to find them. In spite of considerable losses in South 
American investments (notably Argentine railways) I was still 
well enough off to indulge myself in a long holiday, or indeed to 
retire from work, without withdrawing supplies from any de- 
pendent. Reasonable economy was necessary — but no more — and 
the chambers I am occupying answered very well, though, had I 
known it would be over two years, I might have sought out some 
better rooms, with a better-tempered proprietor. My idea at first 
was to go back in a twelvemonth at most. I am very near the 
completion of my historical work now ; three months, I think, might 
I finish it. I shall then go straight back home, as soon as I have 
made arrangements with the Publishers. 

Having interposed this word of explanation, in writing which 
I have not seemed unreasonable to myself, I go on to the frag- 
i ment of narrative that is wanting to complete my European life, 
and shall add no more to it than belongs to my subsequent cor- 
respondence with Lossie and her husband ; that being the only link 
that, after my departure to America, connects me with the events 
I have narrated. Of course I exchanged letters with Bony until 
his death, and with my father-in-law. I heard from Jeannie about 
seven years ago — an account of my dear old friend’s last illness, 
and how his mind wandered back to the old days of St. Withold’s, 
and the great fight. I had other correspondence too, from my 
stepmother in Worcestershire and so forth — ^but after about ten 
years it died down and I felt my Europe was a thing of the past. 

It should be clear from the above that my life of twenty years 
past forms no part of my scheme; I have only now to deal with 
a sequel of my European life, which overlaps it. I need not 
tell anything of the delays that prolonged the stay I had at first 
proposed to make, or of the effect that a life of great activity 
and excitement had on one who sadly wanted influences of the 
sort to counteract a growing morbidness and reserve, the fruits 
of past unhappiness. As a matter of fact, one undertaking fol- 
lowed another; each one always beginning before its predecessor 
ended, in such a way that no pause for withdrawal presented itself ; 
and the time slid away till near a quarter of a century had some- 
how gone since I first projected a journey to Brazil. 


494 


JOSEPH VANCE 


I had, however (as will be seen) few inducements to come ba^^ 
during the greater half of my time there. 

It very soon occurred to me that if I was to have any ad- 
vantage from Cristoforo while he was still young and succulent 
he would have to come out to me. After two or three postpone^ 
ments I began to have misgivings about the genuineness of my 
proposals to return, and in the course of my second year found 
I was beginning, as it were mechanically, to throw out hints in 
my letters to the Signorina Vespucci about the advantages South 
America offered to Italians. The bait took, and I was not much 
surprised to receive from the Faustina herseK a proposal to bring 
Cristoforo out to his adopted parent. The Faustina, it also ap- 
peared, had become engaged to an Italian Officer, with the stipu- 
lation that she should not be obliged to part from Cristoforo. If 
her fidanzato could be certain of an impegno on his arrival he 
wouldn’t mind coming too. So we were suited all round, especially 
as I at once got preferment beyond his wildest dreams for Cesare 
Nissim, which was the fidanzato’s name. The Signora Nissim con- 
tinued in charge of Cristoforo during his infancy, and when he 
came to schoolboy age surrendered him to me, with many tears, 
owing to the increase of her own family. I made new arrange- 
ments for my boy, which don’t come into my story. 

My correspondence with Lossie went steadily on, as also with 
Bony. The dream that I should return was seriously treated by 
both for many years. I can’t find any hint of any other possi- 
bility until Lossie writes in ’78. ^^We quite despair, dear Joe, 
of ever seeing you again — do think it over seriously, and next time 
a contract is to be signed to tunnel the Andes, or bridge the Ama- 
zon, pause a little and think of your friends in Europe. It would 
be so good to see your dear old face once more, here at Sorrento. 
And still better to see you once again at the old home. The young 
people are all growing up at a great rate, but they don’t forget their 
Uncle Joe. Kandall is quite a model Etonian; only I don’t fancy 
he will be his father again. He’s very studious — ^he may end his 
days a Bishop! Fancy Papa’s grandson a Bishop!” and goes on 
to say how all the children talk about me, even the Turk, young 
as she was when we parted. We generally exchanged letters two 
or three times in the year, till the change came. 

In ’79 came her letter telling how Hugh had started at a week’s 
notice to join the Army in Afghanistan. She had tried hard to 
persuade him to let her go too. But he was firm about this. 
What would she gain by being at Peshawur if he was shot at 
Cabul? She might just as well be at Sorrento, Then how about 


JOSEPH VAHCE 


495 


tlie children! So she consented to remain with a heavy heart, 
and in time came the news of the disaster of Maiwand, and his 
death at Candahar. My memory serves me ill about details, and 
her letters give very few; of course she knew I should read the 
story over and over again in the newspapers. She only dwells on 
little personal matters I should especially recollect. Did I re- 
member the little wallet he called his satchel, that he never would 
part with if he could help it. It was that very one the bullet 
that killed him passed through! Of course I did. How well 
I now recollect pushing Beppino’s wicked letters away in it. Thank 
Heaven ! my Cristoforo never reminded me who his father was. 

It was about six months after this that Lossie wrote that she 
was going to sell the villa at Sorrento. She wrote from Poplar 
Villa, where she and the children were remaining much later than 
for many years past, as it was mid-October. She shrank from 
the return to the Sorrento Villa with all its associations with her 
husband. But she had lived too much in Italy to be able to live 
anywhere else. So she should leave the sale to the Agents, and 
take the children to Florence to see if anything suitable could be 
found there. ^‘You know,” she wrote, “I have always had such 
love for Florence because my darling Joey (Beppino) had such 
a nice time there — ^just before his marriage, you remember?” I 
remembered. “I should so like to take his boy and mine to see 
the Spanish chapel and the Benozzo Gozzoli frescoes he used to 
talk so much about.” Then this letter goes on to say what a 
dear fellow young Beppino, Sibyl’s boy, has grown, and what 
amazing talents he is showing, and what high moral qualities; 
and how fortunate this is, as he will be, when he comes of age, 
heir to the unentailed portion of his grandfather’s property. For 
his grandfather had been pitched off his horse in the hunting-field, 
and his next-door neighbour had been unable to stop and had ridden 
over him and been in at the death. Meanwhile Death had been 
in at the mortal tenement of poor Mr. Fuller Perceval, and had 
taken its tenant to Another Place — an Upper Chamber, let us hope. 
All his devisable property was left (subject to his widow’s life- 
interest and some legacies) to his grandson Joseph Kandall 
Thorpe. All the more reason, I thought, why no doubt should bo 
cast on Joseph Randall’s legitimacy. 

A letter followed this one of Lossie’s at a quicker interval than 
usual; about two months. It was written at Florence from the 
Hotel' Huova York; and I was not absolutely sorry it wasn’t from 
the Minerva. The less my footsteps were trodden in the better. 
Remember that nothing of this sort ever passed without a little 


496 


JOSEPH VANCE 


twist to my inner self, that it was keeping something back from 
Lossie. How I should have rejoiced to speak out freely, and get 
into the fresh air once more! The letter was all about the Villa 
Magoncini on the Koad under Fiesole, that turns to the right before 
you get to San Domenico. It was a perfect Paradise — only wanted 
one or two stoves in the rooms — had never been modernized nor 
Anglicized nor Americanized — and could be bought outright with 
two poderi for two thousand pounds. She was just posting a 
cheque to the agent with direction to complete the purchase forth- 
with. It was too late to tell her how much of that money would 
go into that agent’s pockets. So I only wrote congratulations and 
said I wished I could be there to see. 

The next letter is in May, and they are all settled at the Villa 
‘‘ to the boundless joy of the girls, and would be to mine also, if — 
but you know, dear Joe, as well as it can be known, what that 
if means. I do wish you could be here, for I could talk to you 
of Hugh. There is no one here now that I can speak of him 
to but the babes, and they are only babes. Even when Violet comes 
out, it is little comfort to hear that ‘we are told’ this, and it 
is ‘wrong to doubt’ that. It would be such a happiness to bear 
Papa’s voice, saying things one knew he meant.” 

Then follows much about the villa and the chapel and the con- 
tadini and the huge white oxen. “ Can any one, I wonder, make | 
these glorious creatures go an atom faster than bas-reliefs or j 
induce them to stop when they don’t want to? Your Turk (do ' 
you know she’s nearly nine — isn’t it awful?) wanted to kiss one : 
of them, and he shook his head slightly, and the wind of it knocked 
the Turk down.” And so forth. All of which gave me pleasure j 
to read, and to write in answer to. My next letter was not to ! 
be so pleasant. ! 

It was written in September, at the time of the Vintage. I | 
saw as I opened it a large P. S. on a separate sheet. Not quite ; 
like Lossie, I thought to myself. However, never mind now; we i 
should come to it in time. I settled down to read the letter. 

“It was a splendid Vendemmia. The whole household was at 
work, and Paolo was even recommending that a new tino should be 
obtained forthwith at any cost, as the old ones would never be big I 
enough. It was so funny to see Dick (the Towerstairs) trying 
to smoke large cigars and cut grapes at the same time. 

“ Eeally there is nothing in the world like Tuscany, in the vint- 
age. The great white oxen dragging the loads of botte up to the 
Cantina is the most majestic sight in nature, and we all felt ^ 


JOSEPH VANCE 


497 


ashamed (except Dick) of sitting gormandizing at lunch indoors 
when tocco came, while all the contadini were hard at work again 
after black bread and the thinnest wine man ever drank/' 

So ran on the letter, through eight pages, ending: ^^We only- 
want you here, dear old Joe, you and your Italian boy, and it 
would be perfect.” A very nice letter, and I almost felt I was with 
them in Tuscany. 

But what was all this? How about the postscript? The first 
dozen words made me grave and attentive. The first sentence 
showed me a serious danger ahead. By the time I had read through 
it I was already feeling that I must keep cool. You know what 
one is when one feels one must keep cool. Here is what I read: 

I really do not know, dear old Joe, if I ought to repeat to you 
the monstrous piece of nonsense that has come round to us about 
you and your Italian boy. It is too bad that such rubbish should 
get about. Fancy it's being said, in the face of all the facts, that 
the boy is your own son ! Having written it, I feel so angry with 
myself for having done so, and as if I ought to tear it up. Of 
course I at once told Violet, who told me (and also what I could 
not believe to be true that ‘everybody' was saying it), that I 
knew all the particulars about the boy; and that everybody's ver- 
sion (if he really said it) was entirely wrong. I asked her to tell 
me who everybody was, in this case, and how everybody came to 
know anything about you. Violet said the Seth-Pettigrews, who at 
any rate knew all about it, although I might choose to think them 
nobody, had told her. She said of course they knew nothing about 
you, but they knew the Signorina Vespucci years ago, and she had 
charge of ‘ your baby.' I cannot tell you how angry Vi made me. 
You know I am very fond of Vi, but you know how disagreeable 
she can be when she likes. As for the story itself, don't let it 
make you uncomfortable. I am not at all sure I hadn’t better de- 
stroy this, after all. However, it's always better to be out in the 
open, as Papa used to say. I shall call upon Mrs. Seth-Pettigrew 
as soon as they come back from Via Reggio, and tell her the facts, 
and I am sure I shall find that Vi has made the most of some 
chance word, jus., to vex me about you. You know she always 
went on those lines. It's a sort of 'parii pris with her ; though why. 
Heaven knows! And as for the Seth-Pettigrews, they are the 
biggest gossips in Florence, and that is saying a great deal. How- 
ever, dear old boy, don't let their rubbish fidget you. I shouldn't 


498 


JOSEPH VANCE 


write it, only of course it will be nice to have your letter back to 
enable me to squash it altogether.” 

I read this through a dozen times — ^but could get no forwarder 
in my task of keeping cool than to say over and over again that 
I must do so. I felt my pulse going quicker and my head grow- 
ing hotter. The worst of it was there was no living creature 
I could consult. 

Come stai, Daddino caro ? Come stai ? Mi pari malinconico,” 
said my boy Cristoforo, the unconscious cause of it all. I had 
taught him Daddy; and of course, being Tuscan-born, he made 
it a diminutive. I could not talk it over with the little man — ■ 
not quite! But I could surely with Signora Nissim? Could I? 
No — I couldn’t. How was I to tell her, please, that the sorella 
of our boy^s father was in want of proof that I wasn’t that father 
myself? Perhaps that is too bold a restatement of Lossie’s con- 
cluding words — but they seemed to me to have that meaning in 
the bush. No, I could not speak even to her I 

Oh, why — why — need Lossie ever go to Plorence? Was there 
none of the swarm of towns on the Kiviera that would have done 
as well, where no living soul knew aught of me or mine? And 
if Florence, why Fiesole? I got half mad trying to think what 
I could write to her, tore everything I began, and ended by post- 
ponement. Meanwhile, how to keep off a fever? I could ride 
over to Torviedro, where I was wanted, on business, about forty 
miles off. I could ride all through the tropical night. That would 
suit me now exactly. There was a nice full moon just climbing 
off the mountain edge over there. The road was bad and I 
could not go fast; but I waked my man I went to see in the 
dawn, and made him give me breakfast. I passed the day 
in activity and excitement, the great remedy for all trouble, went 
down in a mine where the miners were in mutiny, and anticipated 
the police by shooting a half-breed through the head. Any one 
under too great a strain of nervous tension finds homicide a great 
reliefi But I was destined to have a still greater antidote ad- 
ministered to my feverish symptoms. For I rode back next night 
under a diminished moon and arrived again at dawn to find poor 
Cristoforo in the hands of the doctor, with his head bound up. 
He and a little friend of eight had found a pointed knife, 
and were playing most peacefully at assassinations when he 
did his performance of the victim wrong, and got very badly 
cut. 

He got quite well in a few days, and he and his friend Pepito 


JOSEPH VANCE 


499 


showed me with the paper knife how they were doing it, and why 
it went wrong. But I believe his mishap was good for me, and 
Avhen a week after Lossie^s letter came I nerved myself up to 
ausv/er it, I felt much better qualified for the task than when I 
tried before. I can recollect my reply to the postscript, but not 
the whole letter. Here it is: 

“ As to your postscript, dear Loss, I hardly know what to say 
more than that the false gossip about me and my little man is 
evidently a misconstruction put upon the circumstances under 
which I took possession of him. Perhaps the people at the Hotel 
got a report of my behaviour at our first introduction, and could 
not ascribe it to any one short of a father. You know you used 
always to say, like Mrs. Crupp, I was a ‘mother myself.’ That 
is really the only theory I can formulate to account for the ab- 
surdity. This letter will take too long to reach you for anything 
I say in it to influence matters. But I am sure your judgment 
will have been right about what amount of contradiction is most 
likely to procure truth. I should say simply deny it, and leave 
the facts to make out their own case.” Then I went on with a 
long undisturbed letter, telling all about my moonlight ride, and 
the miners’ meeting and Toforino’s game of murder with little 
Pepito, and the amazing musical genius of little Giuseppe Nis- 
sim, who at four was already a passable violinist. Lossie would 
remember, I said, that Madam Nissim was the Signorina Vespucci, 
Cristoforo’s mother’s cousin, whom she said the Seth-Pettigrews 
had known. 

I did not hear from Lossie again till after the new year, the 
last letter I ever had from her; and though she is still alive and 
well, I shall never have another. But in the interim, as near as 
I remember at the end of November, the Faustina came to me 
laughing, with a letter she had just received from the Signora 
Ledidesprez (which she treated as all one word). She had writ- 
ten that I was not to see it — but that was too absurd! the thing 
was a mere joke to laugh about — not to be taken too seriously, so 
I need not look so anxious about it. Che ! che 1 

The letter was to ask Madame Nissim, as a special favour, to 
write one line to disabuse the Signori Seth-Pettigrew, whom she 
would remember at Fiesole seven years ago, of a foolish idea that 
they had — and then followed particulars, and a reference to the 
persistency of the Seth-Pettigrews. But this would be silenced 
at once by a word from Madame Nissim, who had known Cristo- 
foro’s parents. She hoped Madame Nissim would say nothing to 
me about it, as it would very likely seem more important to me 


500 


JOSEPH VANCE 


than it really was; but she had no right to impose conditions. Of 
course she herself knew it was nonsense. But people were very 
difficult to convince when once they got hold of an idea. The 
letter was written in very fair Italian. 

‘^But I don’t know any Signori Seth-Pettigrew,” said the Eaus- 
tina. And we were quite unable to identify these persons, and 
gave them up as a bad job. It occurred to me afterwards that 
perhaps il Signora Scappatigre, whom I had heard of from Faus- 
tina, might have something to do with them, but at the time 
we did not connect them up. 

Ma non lo capisco I ” said she, suddenly attacked by reflection, 

^^La Signora Ledidesprez is the sister of Toforino’s babbo ” 

and looked mightily bewildered. For, relying on the gap between 
Kio Grande and Florence, I had spoken of Lady Desprez as Bep- 
pino’s sister. 

“ Cara Faustina,” said I, there are some things I cannot 
explain to you fully, because you do not understand us English. 
But you know who Toforino’s babbo was, and that he had the same 
name as myself ? Depend upon it that is how this gossip got about. 
Don’t you write to the Signora! I’ll write and make it all clear. 
I wish I was my boy’s real Babbo.” I then pointed out that though 
Lady Desprez knew I had adopted an Italian child, she never knew 
it was her own nephew. She had left the matter to her brother’s 
executor, and thought his son was with his wife’s relations. 

“ Ma com’ e strano,” said the Faustina, “ di lasciaf are cosi ! So 
fosse stato un nipotino mio ! ” 

“You would have done differently. But you are not a Prot- 
estante, Faustina! Bemember that il povero Signore wanted his 
son brought up a Cristiano.” 

I wasn’t sure I should not have to put a big lie on the top of 
all this, and swear that Beppino’s family had been rabbiatoed by 
this wish for his son’s education, which they had found dwelt 
upon in his letters that I carried back to London. But luckily 
Faustina was as wax in my hands, and made no difficulties about 
leaving the answer entirely to me. I told her I could clear it 
all up. But I did not consider it necessary to write to Lossie 
again about it. If she got no answer she would only conclude the 
letter had never reached. Any word I added to my last letter 
might merely stir up and renew what would otherwise die down 
and be forgotten. 

Then in time came the terrible letter to which no reply was 
possible, except indeed I had written the whole truth without 
reserve. The choice I had to make was whether I should or should 


JOSEPH VANOE 


501 


not inflict on Lossie the knowledge that the brother she had cher- 
ished in her memory for years, making him each year more an 
idol than the last, was a villain; and that his boy was a bastard 
— the boy that she had almost made her own; that this boy would 
like enough lose his splendid inheritance from his grandfather, 
unless indeed his father’s treachery to his mother could be shown 
to be the worst of all treacheries (almost) that men of his type 
gain their end by. And she herself — the woman on whom I should 
throw the burden of this wrong, who would have the task of telling 
Beppino’s widow what manner of thing her adored husband had 
been — was she not my Miss Lossie? — that same Miss Lossie that 
came upon my childhood in a gleam of sunlight that day long ago 
at Poplar Villa — and turned my youth from what it might have 
been to what it was? And did not that little Joey that clung to her 
skirts grow to be this very Beppino? 

No! — his memory should remain sweet in her mind, and hi$ 
wife’s, and his son’s — aye! both his sons’ — for all that I would 
ever say to any one of them. 

But oh! it was hard to think of the price at which her im- 
munity from this nightmare must be purchased. Not the prio6 
to me — that I would pay cheerfully, and live through the rest of 
my time, and see my boy launched happily in life, if I could. 
Janey would know — or was not there, in which case nothing mat- 
tered at all! But poor Lossie! She would have to live through 
her days, without Hugh, and to believe that her dear other little 
brother had turned out foul in the end — or at least, if not foui, 
a man with a mask on, capable of a new love, of some sort or 
other, almost while the ink was wet on the pen with which 
he wrote of his wife’s tragic death. Well, it was better she should 
think that, than know the truth. As for me, I could bear it, 
and would. Janey would know all about it, except she was not. 
That would be all right. But, poor Lossie! 

This that follows is her letter. I have read it again, for the 
thousandth time, and do not see that I could have done other than 
I did. 

Villa Magoncini, Fiesole, January 16, 1881. 

''My dear Joe: I must write what I have to write, although my 
heart breaks to write it. Oh, why could you not trust me, after 
all the long years we have been brother and sister? It was not a 
crime that you committed! Had you married another wife in 
Portugal, on your road back after Janey’s death, it would have been 
no crime. Had you done so and then come to me and said, it 


502 


JOSEPH VANCE 


might be hard for me to understand, but that you would be hap- 
pier so — I should only have said let it be so — and taken your new 
wife to my heart as I took your old. It would have been strange! 
but such things have been, and will be again. And you would 
have been to me still my other little brother — ^my darling little 
Joey’s namesake — the little boy that picked the pears, and went up 
the chimney. Oh, do you remember? 

‘‘But that you should do this thing and conceal it — conceal it 
from me! For I have been your sister, have I not? Oh, how my 
heart went out to you that dreadful day when I found your name 
in the list of passengers, and knew that Janey must be gone. And 
uot then only, but so often. And in all this long absence in 
America, how I have thought of you and your boy — that I did not 
know was your own — ^thought of you and prayed for you and 
longed for your face again, that we might talk of Janey and Hugh 
together — for now, I thought, we should be alike — in trouble a 
brother and a sister, as in our happiness in the old days. But you 
could conceal this that you did from me, and almost deny it; and 
all my trust in you that was so strong — it is all gone, and the 
young folk wonder why mamma sits and cries — for I have told 
them nothing and shall tell them nothing, and I hope Violet will 
be silent. 

“But it is useless for me to write on in this way — ^useless for 
me — useless for you. If ever we meet again in this world, I will 
be friends, dear Joe, for the sake of my father and yours, and all 
the long past, and above all for Jane/s sake. And I will never 
dream for one moment that this marriage of yours meant that you 
forgot or could forget Janey — that I cannot believe! The most 
likely thing I can imagine is that this poor girl who died, Annun- 
ciatina Vespucci, loved you, and the thing came to your knowledge, 
and that you married her in a sort of Quixotism. But if so, why 
not have told mef It is that hurts me so. 

“ I must, I suppose, tell you how I came to know of it. I think 
I wrote to you that I had heard some gossip to the effect that Cristo- 
foro was your son. Of course I disbelieved it, as I said. But it 
would have been a relief, although I did not allow myself to think 
so, to receive a letter from you saying plainly who the boy’s father 
was, which you would have been surely justified in doing for his 
own sake when it came to ascribing him to yourself. But I got no 
letter from you — of course it’s a long post. And in the mean- 
while the Seth-Pettigrews came back from the sea, and I called and 
asked them what they knew. Violet’s story was a little exaggerated, 
but not much. They had plenty to tell me of what every one els© 


JOSEPH VANCE 


603 


said — very little of what they knew. Personally they only remem- 
bered going to Signor ina Vespucci to get the character of a servant, 
and then saw Cristoforo and were told he was the child of an Eng- 
lish gentleman named Giuseppe Vance, and that his mother had 
died shortly after his birth. When Violet mentioned your name 
incidentally they asked if that was the Mr. Vance who lost his 
wife so sadly. Violet of course misunderstood this, but her mis- 
take was cleared up when they spoke about ‘ your baby ^ that they 
had seen up at Fiesole. She did not hear anything else at the 
time; but Mrs. Pettigrew said she knew where the girl was whom 
they had gone to ask about. She had stayed a year with them, and 
then went to some friends, where she was still cameriera. She 
was a very nice truthful girl and might be relied upon. Vi and I 
found her, and made her tell us all she could recollect, which seemed 
quite straightforward. She had never seen Cristoforo’s mother, 
nor his father except once, when he came back after his wife’s 
death, having been called away on business some time before his 
baby was born. She described you very closely, so as to convince 
us she was speaking truly. But she could tell us nothing about 
your wife, and sent us for more information to the priore, to whom 
we went. He was new to the place, but he referred us to his pred- 
ecessor. I wrote to him asking him to tell us all he knew. I 
need not write this — ^you will know that he would be accurate. But 
he gave us the name of the place you were married in, saying he 
thought we had better see the priore there, which we did. We 
heard from him that he recollected your wedding quite clearly — 
and who were your ^ testimone,’ as he called them. He said they 
did not have many runaway matches between forestieri and Italian 
girls in his little out of the way village — ^he was sure there was 
nothing disreputable about the business. The girl had lived in 
the place for a fortnight before the wedding at a casa of monache, 
and you had stayed at the albergo. He gave your name quite cor- 
rectly. 

It all seems like a dreadful dream. It must be what I sup- 
posed — the girl must have fallen in love with you, and threatened 
to kill herself, or something of that sort. She was an Italian, and 
their girls are not like ours. Do write, dear Joe, and tell me it 
was this. It must have been. Oh, do write something that will 
make me feel happier. It is all too terrible. But whatever it 
was, remember all the past is with me still, and I can never be 
4»nything to you but your affectionate sister 

Loss’f ” 

“P. S. I have reopened this to say that I wrote to Madame Nis- 


504 


JOSEPH VANCE 


sim some time since — ^but had no answer. So I suppose the letter 
never reached. What I wanted was to spare you from hearing 
more than you needed, and so I asked her to tell me what she knew 
without worrying you about it. 

“ Since I fastened up the letter I have been letting myself hope a 
little — that you will be able to say something to make things 
easier to bear. If you had only not concealed — it would have been 
different. I wake in the glorious morning light here, and know 
before I wake that some dark thing I have forgotten is waiting to 
come over me like a cloud. And the children ask me what is the 
long, long letter I am writing to Uncle Joe, and I cannot tell them.” 

That was the end. I saw that no answer was possible, and 
that now Lossie Thorpe, whom I had clung to through all my 
troubles of boyhood and manhood ; through her marriage and mine ; 
she whom the wife I loved so dearly loved too, as I did — was 
gone. Gone out of my life as surely as Janey herself was gone. 
Gone for ever, except there be, as I said to myself there needs 
must be (else the absurdity of it all!), some life to come where 
sight is clear — where no counter stroke of Love or Hate, or speech 
misunderstood, can overthrow the structure of a soul, or make 
the light of heaven shine in vain. That life would come ; it might 
well be. But in the meanwhile I must tread my path alone. 

For I saw that Lossie had shut her eyes to the fact that I 
had not only concealed but denied the thing I seemed so clearly 
convicted of. She had certainly received my letter of November 
or how could she have written to la Faustina? But to write a 
challenge to so plain a denial of paternity, on its merits, would 
have left no loophole for reconciliation. Whereas, to accept it 
as part of the machinery of concealment left it included in the 
blame for that concealment, and ignored its seeming a deliberate 
lie. Had I not better have told a lie, and pleaded guilty to what 
I had not done ? Quite impossible I I never could have sustained 
the part. 

There was no way out now except the truth. Oh, for the right 
to speak the truth, and get Lossie back! A coward^s thought, in 
all conscience! To get Lossie back, at the cost of shifting the 
weight off my heart onto hers ! 

No,” I said to myself, if I die with the pain of it, I will 
be silent! Lossie must think ill of her other little brother for a 
while — just for the rest of the time! — but she shall never know 
from him what that brother of her own was. Every pang I have 
to face in the days to come will be fraught with its own word 


JOSEPH VANCE 


505 


of solace — * This is for Lossie ’ — and the thought will be mine that 
she is spared a greater sorrow than the one that is borne by me, 
that I do not shrink from for her sake.” 

So, the letter ended all. And my heart died down as I thought 
of the days I had before me. But I made my boy, who was 
the son of the cause of it all, come to me and give me consola- 
tion. And I think if it had not been for Toforino’s voice, that 
surely was his mother^s, and his eyes and his locks, that were 
none of his father’s, as I could see, my heart would have broken 
outright. But I lived for my boy, and threw myself into my 
work and all its dangers and excitement. And fifteen years passed, 
and things chanced as I have told you and brought me here. 


CHAPTER LIV 


THE TALE IS TOLD. A FEW RECOLLECTIONS OF FOLK SEEN IN LONDON, 
OP NOLLY, OF HICKMAN, OF PRING, OP LADY TOWERSTAIRS. AND OF 
POOR OLD CAPSTICK, IN A MADHOUSE! WHEN HE HAS LOOKED 
THROUGH THE LETTERS AGAIN, HE WILL BURN THE WHOLE LOT; 
BUT ! A LONG LETTER OF LOSSIE’s TO SARITA SPENCER. FINIS. 

And now I am at the end of my story — the story I set out 
to tell. I have gone through my early life again — the life I had 
tried to forget; and I have found how impracticable real oblivion 
,is, for each phase of memory has revived another. Am I glad or 
sorry to have got to ' finis I do not know; it has been both 
■ pleasure and pain. I will not write the word — at least, not yet. 
There are still some late letters of Lossless that I have glanced at 
enough to see that they contain nothing of great interest. But a 
closer examination may detect something. Finis may stand over, 
at least till I am packing up to go back to my boy. He will be 
thinlving I am never coming back — but there ! — the time has 
slipped away by instalments. Six months has become near two 
years. A few weeks will be the utmost now. I shall be glad to 
be back. 

For I have not had a comfortable two years. I have been in con- 
stant fear of meeting some old friend to whom I should have had 
to tell lies to account for my disappearance. Nolly in Lincoln's 
Inn Fields is much too near; but then he lives at Sydenham, and 
his London beat is almost limited to the streets between the Fields 
and the Temple. There are not many others who would recognize 
me, but there are a few. For instance, a very important-looking 
gentleman whom I saw in Walbrook. I could not think who it 
was at first; then I remembered Hickman, my Father’s partner. 
Had he seen me he might have remembered me. Probably I should 
have got off easily, without much prequivocation.” But how can 
I tell? Then I was recognized on a fine Saturday evening on the 
Bridge in St. James’s Park by a man who was drunk, and was 
pretending to be sober. It was my old friend Pring, who, in spite 
of the slightness of our interview, managed to keep up his old char- 
acter for contradictiousness. ‘^You’re not Mr. Vansh,” said he, 

606 


JOSEPH VANCE 


607 

with confidence. I said: Very well, Pring, just as you like. I’m 
not.” On which he changed his ground, and said, '' I sheed it was 
you.” Then he took umbrage at a person unloiown who had ques- 
tioned his consistency, and became loud and oratorical. “ I sheed 
Mr. Vansh minute I came onsh bridge. Shed show! Heard me 
say it,” and then asked who the unknown was, as well he 
might. He repeated the question with asperity. “ Who are you 
shezidin’t— liar yourself 1 ” until I was obliged to accept the fiction, 
and assure him that the unknown was an inferior person, not worth 
his notice. This appeased Pring, who then called him a some- 
thing young haberdasher. The remainder of our conversation 
was conjectural, as to what Pring said to me, but it seemed to 
be an indictment of Mr. McGaskin for stealing “ our ” invention. 

What invention ? ” said I. “ Shiprockater,” said Pring. Oh, 
how nearly I had forgotten the great Engine! I gave Pring a 
sovereign, as he was out of work, and parted from him with a 
mind at ease. But suppose I had met some one who was pre- 
tending to be drunk and was really sober — ^how then ? 

The person I was most afraid of meeting was Jeannie Mac- 
allister. My fear kept me away from West End Streets with shops 
where ladies from Perthshire would go marketing in their London 
season. But I had quite made up my mind, in case the sort of 
thing it pictured should come to pass, what course I should pursue. 
If, for instance, she should suddenly recognize me from a car- 
riage-full of daughters in the street, and call after me, I would 
not run — not I! I would face the music — go home with her — 
take her, force her into my confidence, and beg her, in the name 
of her dead husband and our old friendship, to say no word to 
any living soul. It would be the only chance — for as to half tell- 
ing a tale to Jeannie, or hoodwinking her in any way — that 
wouldn’t work! Had Lossie resembled Jeannie in her keen dra- 
matic sympathy and insight into human life, she would have 
found the whole story out long ago. Fancy Jeannie in Florence 
with the clues Lossie had! But the two women are quite unlike 
in the way they see into character. Lossie sees and distinguishes 
truth and falsehood instantly — but not men’s motives and actions 
and passions. 

There is one person whom I have seen once at a concert, and 
do not care to see again. For though I met Lady Towerstairs 
face to face in the lobby going away, she looked me in the eyes 
very stonily; and yet I did not feel at all sure she did 
not know me quite well. How I can imagine her saying to her 
sister: ^‘I saw your Joe Vance, dear, in town last season. He 


608 


JOSEPH VANCE 


seems to be enjoying himself in London. I thought he had gone 
to Patagonia or somewhere.” And then I can fancy Lossie try- 
ing to get some more information, and not succeeding. However, 
she may not have recognized me, as to say the truth I did not really 
recognize her by her appearance. What made me identify her was 
probably the beautiful girl I saw beside her whom I suppose now 
to have been her niece, Nolly’s daughter, of whose extraordinary 
resemblance to her aunt. Lady Desprez, I had often heard while 
I was still in correspondence with the latter and she herself was 
yet a child. I was coming out through iLe entry at St. James’s 
Hall, where toffs and mortals jostle each other and never know 
it, when I saw in a mirror in front of me, following my own image, 
two visions of beauty whom nature and art had done their best 
for, who seemed to be, so far as the former went, the Lossie and 
Violet that I saw married more than twenty-five years ago. Behind 
them was a palpable mother of one or both, and around them males 
in bondage. I glanced at the reflected group, and I hope did 
not look as I felt, like a man struck dumb with a sudden incom- 
prehensible surprise. But the girls’ reflections did look startled, 
and the mother fixed me with a look that either did not know 
me, or pretended not to. I saw that it was Violet, and that her 
^ good looks had not forsaken her. I got into the street and was 
glad. 

I think that exhausts all my encounters with early recollections 
in my two years of British Museum research and historical scrib- 
bling. 

No! Stop a minute! I had just one other. I had been to 
see a poor insane fellow at the Asylum to which his friends had 
removed him. He had been a reader at the Museum with whom 
I had had some acquaintance, but I had noticed nothing wrong 
about him. No one was more surprised than I when one day he 
went raving mad, and had to be removed. Hearing afterwards 
that he had recovered his reason, but that he was not considered 
safe to leave the Asylum, I went over to see him, and found him 
to all appearance quite himself. So much so that he was taking 
a good deal of interest in the other patients, and told me he was 
thinking out a novel, the events of which would take place entirely 
in a madhouse. He described some of the cases he had seen- 
that he meant to introduce — among them a clergyman who had 
gone stark mad over predestination and Prevenient Grace. ‘^He 
talks to himself all day long,” said my friend, “ and with a sort 
of coherence. He gets into logical fixes about the duty of sin, in 
order that the Lord shall pardon the Sin and Grace shall abound. 


JOSEPH VANCE 


509 


But then every right action is an opportunity lost, and it ia 
obviously sinful to do it. But if it is sinful to do it, clearly 
that is an occasion for Grace, and it is right to do it on that 
account. So iPs right to do a thing because it’s wrong, and 
therefore wrong to do the same thing because it’s right.” 

“ Nothing can be clearer,” said I, but I remembered the phrases, 
and thought I should like to see any one who reminded me of 
my early youth. And my friend took me through the asylum, 
where he seemed to be under little restraint; and there, walking 
in the garden, incessantly talking to himself, over and over the 
same thing, was a little, bent old man with the manner of a 
preacher. Every now and then he would throw out his hands 
in a kind of despair and then bury his face in them, shaking 
his head as he did so. And guided by the clue given me, I could 
see that he was the Rev. Benaiah Capstick. 

This going back into the past has been a very strange experi- 
ence. My impression, now that I come to the end of it, is that 
it has absorbed me more than I had meant it should. My idea was 
to make a summary of the main facts of my early life. No sooner 
had I taken up my pen than I suddenly remembered that my 
Father and Mother had been emphatic about that beer. And that 
made me remember more, and so throughout the whole story. 

What shall I do with it now that it is written? My feeling is 
in favour of destroying it But that seems so illogical! A more 
reasonable course would be to make a parcel of it and leave it 
for my boy to read after I have “got free,” as Dr. Thorpe used 
to phrase it. The only possible reason against this would be if 
there was the legal flaw in his mother’s marriage, and I have 
gathered since that this may have been the case. But my nar- 
rative shows (to my thinking) that even if this was so, his mother 
was the innocent victim of diabolism supported by officialism. As 
for the character of his father, that won’t trouble Cristoforo. In 
fact, I think he regards his parent as a mere meddler — an inter- 
loper before the fact — just as my dear Daddy looked upon C. 
Dance, the former owner of the celebrated board. I am Toforino’s 
hahbo; and at the most Beppino’s claims upon him could only 
be for a mere civility — rather an officious one, quite unsolicited 
by himself. No I I don’t mind his reading every word of it, after 
I am gone. 

If there were any likelihood of his getting into touch with his 
English relatives I should burn it. Because then they too would 
be almost sure to come to the knowledge of the whole thing. If 


610 


JOSEPH VANCE 


Lossie was dead, this wouldn^t matter. But if she lives to her 
Aunt’s age, there are still forty years to reckon with. However, I 
don’t see any prospect of Toforino coming to live in England. He 
is at Harvard now. Had I wished him ever to come to England, 
of course I should have sent him to Oxford ; he would have shown, 
I believe, that private tuition in Kio Grande had done justice to 
his abilities. But I thought England dangerous. 

I have still a painful task before me with all those old letters. 
It wouldn’t do to burn them without making sure of their con- 
tents. When I have done that, and arranged about the publica- 
tion of Music and Mechanism,” as I have settled to call my 
work, I will if possible draw those other two games against Herr 
Pfleiderer, and bid a last farewell to my native fogs. 

When I laid down my pen two days since I did not think ever 
to add a word to the above. I find myself obliged to do so, 
having completely missed or overlooked a letter of Lossie’s. I 
cannot the least account for my having done so. Need I account 
for it? The fact remains, and the letter remains. How I felt 
on reading it may be imagined — if any one ever reads it. If it 
be you, Cristoforo, that reads, I ask you to pardon me that I 
have not copied it out, as I did previous letters. It must remain 
in the parcel, to be lost, forgotten, recovered, just as may be, when 
I am lost to the material world; forgotten by those I knew on it; 
recovered, it may be, by a wife that awaits me. 

It is a letter written immediately after her final letter to me, 
and it must have reached my sister-in-law in her last illness. It 
is even possible that she never read it, and was spared the pain 
of knowing (or rather believing) me capable of forgetting her 
sister in less than a year, and consoling myself for her loss with 
an act of treachery to another woman. It does not matter, it is 
all done and over now, fifteen, twenty years ago! Here is the 
letter : 

“Villa Magoncini, Eiesole, 12 February, 1881. 

“ My dearest Sarry : I am quite broken-hearted over a big trou- 
ble, and you will have to share it and be heart-broken too. Be- 
cause it’s Janey’s husband — my dear other little brother that was — 
and I can hardly help calling him dear still, for all this night- 
mare that has come upon us. It is a nightmare! the thought 
that all that time when we were in London and it was such a 
pleasure to me to see what friends he and my darling Hugh 
had become — all that time that he seemed to be bearing 


JOSEPH VANCE 


511 


his loss so bravely, and used to talk of all Papa^s ideas, and 
bis own great hope of seeing Janey again — that all that very 
time he was married to an Italian wife!! whom he had left to 
herself after a few weeks of marriage, expecting a baby — this boy 
Cristoforo, whom he pretended to ^ adopt ^ after her death. I can- 
not quite make out how long it was before he deserted her in this 
way, because it comes down to a matter of memory in which I have 
no one to help me but the children — but it must have been very 
soon. Violet believes, or says she believes, that the marriage was 
an invalid one, and either that the girl was entrapped into it, or 
that both knew the ceremony was a farce, and went through it to 
save their faces. Because it seems that in Italy girls are cou’ 
stantly married in churches and disowned because there has no\ 
been a municipio celebration also. It seems incredible that a con- 
tract accepted by a girl (who is in earnest), because she believes 
the man in earnest, should be disallowed by the state on so shallow 
a pretext — but there! in this marriage business the weaker party 
seems always to be made the victim of a conspiracy of fools and 
devils. However, I can’t believe it was this, whatever Violet maj 
say. My own belief is the girl fell in love with him and told him 
so, and he married her from Quixotism. But why did he not tel! 
me? and why did he deny it when I wrote first to him? 

“ But I am running wild in my letter and not telling you the 
story itself, dear! I will make amends by writing it out long, as 
we used when we were schoolgirls. My letters lately have got 
shorter and shorter. I’ve been so sorry — but couldn’t help it ! ! 

You know how in the year after Janey’s death, in the autumn, 
Joe Vance and my dear Beppino came to Italy. I can’t fix dates 
at this length of time, but I know they parted at Milan, and Bep- 
pino went travelling about. I don’t know where Joe Vance went — 
but there are several people in Florence who remember that the 
Signore Giuseppe Vance was here at that time, though they don’t 
agree in their description of him. At the Hotel Minerva there is 
some story (which I am sure is nonsense) about his wanting to 
be called by another name than the one painted on his boxes. 
Violet will believe anything against Joe — so she pretends to be- 
lieve this. The only thing I can make sure of is that he was here 
sometime — and I must be mistaken in my recollection of how 
soon he came back to London. Things have been very misty in 
my memory since my darling Hugh was taken from me. 

“I think I’m right though that I wrote to you at the time all 
about how Joe came back from his second visit to Italy, after my 
dear Beppino died, and told me he had adopted an Italian baby. 


512 


JOSEPH VANCE 


both of whose parents were dead, because the child had the name 
of Cristoforo (old Mr. Vance was Christopher) and he ‘ seemed in 
want of a caretaker.’ Oh, how incredible it all seems! But you 
will hear. After that we bought the Sorrento Villa, and for two 
years never really made a stay in Florence — only had a flying 
visit or two, and just saw sights — so I had no change to hunt out 
this baby, as I should have done had there been time. Then Joe 
sent for it out to Brazil, and when he did this I began to fear he 
would end by remaining there. And so he has — for the six months 
it was to be at first has got lengthened out and lengthened out. But 
he has constantly written about the boy, telling of his beauty and 
cleverness (for we have been constantly writing), and then that 
he had entered on some new work that would detain him another 
six months — and so on. I do not believe that what I have to tell 
you had any share in producing these delays. He had always 
talked so freely of his adopted son, that I cannot see that ho 
could have had any object in remaining out, except what he said. 
Had he wanted to conceal him — ^however, it is no use speculating. 
I will tell you just what has happened. 

Until we came here I had never heard a hint or suggestion 
that this boy Cristoforo was Joe’s own son. When Violet and her 
husband came out to us at vintage-time last year, she heard some 
gossip to that effect which she thought she was bound to repeat to 
me. I suppose she was. Anyhow, she repeated it — ^rather mali- 
ciously, I thought — ^but you know Vi! I resented the idea as im- 
possible, pointing out that the child was born in Fiesole (I remem- 
ber when Joe came out) not more than a year and a half after 
Janey’s death — ^less, I think. The whole thing seemed perfectly 
ridiculous. Kecollecting as I did how broken-down my poor boy 
(for I can’t help thinking and writing of him so) seemed when 
he came home alone after that terrible catastrophe, I got very 
angry with Vi, reproached her for listening to tattle, and for being 
unfeeling in passing such rubbish on to me. 

Very well, dear! ’ said she — and you know her irritating way 
of saying near instead of dear when she’s patronizing — ‘ Very well, 
near ! If you’re going to make a scene about it, have it your own 
way ! I won’t say anything. I merely repeated to you what people 
were saying. If you like these things to be said, and know noth- 
ing about them, by all means do so. I know nothing about your 
Joe Vance and never did, and don’t want my head snapped off 
about him.’ And then she went to sit in the loggia, and left me 
crying, and then when I went out and begged her pardon for call- 
ing her unfeeling and kissed her, she refused at first to tell me 


JOSEPH VANCE 


613 


any more, saying it was no concern of hers, and she didn’t want 
to be mixed up in other people’s affairs, and always made a point of 
keeping out of them. But she had made an exception this once, 
for my sake, and paid the penalty. No! she didn’t want to talk 
any more about it, and I couldn’t expect her to. However, I knew 
she would if I let her alone, and she did. 

‘ I suppose, dear,’ said she, half-an-hour after, ‘ you think Con- 
stantia Seth-Pettigrew an untruthful person. But she isn’t, for 
one thing; and for another it doesn’t matter whether she is or 
isn’t. It’s not what she says, but what every one says. Of course 
she was living up at Eiesole at the time, so she couldn’t very well 
be mistaken.’ I asked what time, and she answered very pat, 

* November, seventy- three, if you want to know,’ as if she had got 
the whole particulars. And she went on to say that ‘ My Joe 
Vance and his wife, or whatever he called her,’ were up there, and 
that Mr. and Mrs. Seth-Pettigrew had seen them about a servant. 

* Of course they thought they were married,’ she added. * If they 
hadn’t Constantia would have asked for a written character for 
the girl.’ 

I am giving more details than I need, or you will think so. Of 
course Mrs. Seth-Pettigrew’s convulsive purity has nothing to do 
with the matter — ^however, I had better go straight on. I couldn’t 
recall the time clearly enough to find flaws in Violet’s story. But 
I thought Joe (if it was Joe) must have had a very short allowance 
of his wife ‘or whatever she was’; and I said something to this 
effect. 

“ ‘ You don’t understand men, Lossie dear,’ said Violet, with 
equable superciliousness and the nasal tone. ‘ Women that marry 
model husbands never do. Men don’t want a very long allowance. 
When I say men, I mean men; I don’t mean Angels.’ 

“When Vi talks like this it always makes me feel ill. I tried 
to keep my temper with her. 

“ ‘ You mean you think I thought my dear husband an Angel. 
I think I did, almost. But I thought Joe a very, very good man; 
without being an Angel, quite good enough for this story to be a 
ridiculous falsehood.’ 

“ ‘ Very well, dear! just as you please. You can ask Constantia 
yourself. Only I hope you won’t go with a solemn face looking 
as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, and talk as if it was 
an awful sin for a man to have a liaison, because it’s only what 
happens every day in our class; and you’ll frighten Constantia 
and put her off telling you if you shed tears and make scenes.’ 

“ ‘ Violet,’ I said, ‘ I don’t mean to let you make me angry. 


514 


JOSEPH VANCE 


You know perfectly well that what I should think so shocking in 
this, if it were true (which I don^t believe), wouldn’t be the im- 
morality — goodness knows one sees plenty of that in India! But 
it’s following so quick on such a terrible loss — and above all his 
concealing it from me. Remember how I loved and trusted him, 
all our lives, and believed in his affection for Janey — and then 
that he should be able to love this girl.’ 

“ ‘ My dear Loss,’ said Violet, in her most offensive manner, 
‘ you really are a downright primrose ! And after all your Indian 
experience! As if Love and Affection had anything to do with 
one another ! ’ I did not answer. 

“ I wrote at once to J oe at Rio Grande repeating the story, but 
making as light as I could of it. . . . * 

Violet says this answer of Joe’s is evasive, and is worded so as 
to leave it open to him to say he never denied it outright. I think 
otherwise. If Joe wanted to produce a false impression he would 
tell an honest lie, without shuffling. I took it to be an absolute 
denial. 

“ I did not write to J oe again immediately. I wrote to Signora 
Nissim on the chance of her getting a letter directed to Rio Grande 
(only with no other address), asking her to tell me all she knew, 
but say nothing to Joe, as it would annoy him, if she could do with- 
out speaking to him. I have got no answer to this letter at all. 
But I could not have had one, in any case, before my next letter to 
Joe. 

“As soon as Mrs. Seth-Pettigrew came home we called to see 
her, and I found she seemed to know much less about the matter 
than Violet had made out. But she suggested that we should get 
at Maria Zini, the girl who had been a servant in the house Joe 
and this girl appear to have occupied at Fiesole. She kindly found 
her, and sent her to us. I will write exactly our interview, and 
you shall judge for yourself. After thanking her for coming, I 
said i wanted her to tell me all she could remember of the Signore 
Giuseppe Vance when they were together. ‘Mai ho visto loro in- 
sieme,’ said she — but perhaps I had better translate her for you. 
‘ I never saw them together. I was only there a few days before 
the Signore came back, after the Signora’s death — a long time, and 
I was licenziata (dismissed) next day after that for breaking two 
coffee cups. I would have paid for them myself, but the Signorina 
Vespucci was rabbiata (enraged).’ 

♦ What follows is merely Lady Desprez’s letter on page 497, with Mr. Vanco’a 
reply on pace 499 .— Ep. 


JOSEFH VANCE 


615 


** I. — * But you saw the Signore V ance when he returned ? ^ 

“ She. — ^ Sicuro ! he stayed to pranzo, and the priore was there — 
they talked about the child — the Signore said it was molto carino.’ 

Vi. — ‘Can’t she remember anything they said at dinner?’ for 
Violet couldn’t speak much Italian and I had to interpret. 

“ She. — ‘ I can’t remember much at dinner — I had to give my 
attention to the servizio. But when the Signore went away — ^he 
had the baby in his arms, kissing it : he said : “ Kemember, dear 
Signorina, I will do my duty as a father to Cristoforo : and though 
the name of his grandfather was chosen for him without consult- 
ing me, I am ben contento that he should bear it. Because I was 
very fond of my Father.” But just then I turned the vassoio a 
little to one side and the coffee cups slipped and the Signorina was 
rabbiata. It was only quattro soldi ’ 

“ F/. — ‘Show her Joe Vance’s portrait. Where’s the photo- 
graph album ? ’ 

“J. — ‘Is that like the Signore?’ It was the last portrait of 
Joe, in a uniform of some corps he belongs to. 

She. — ‘I couldn’t say for certain. It looks older and darker. 
Besides, the Signore was dressed borghese.’ That is to say, in 
mufti. 

“ I. — ‘ Is this one like him ? ’ I pointed to a photo of Nolly, 
alongside one of J oe, taken six years ago in London. 

“ She. — ‘ Not the least ! But that one is precise, precise I ’ 
pointing to Joe’s. 

“ Vi. — ‘ I hope you’re convinced now, Lossie dear! ’ 

“ I am afraid I was convinced. But I was determined to leave 
no stone unturned before writing again to Joe. So I sought out 
the priore, only unluckily he was not the same. The priore Gri- 
maldi, his predecessor, had gone to Sardinia, to a very out-of-the- 
way place. But he could write any enquiry. I asked him to 
find from Padre Grimaldi what he could, but specially the name of 
the wife and when the marriage took place. In course of a fort- 
night we heard that the marriage had been at Gualdo Tadino near 
Foligno. The other information only confirmed what we already 
knew. 

“ I was very unwell when this came. I had had a slight attack 
of pleurisy, resulting from a chill, and the doctors said I should 
kill myself if I went out in the cold wind and hot ^un. But I 
fidgeted so to hear more about this marriage at Gualdo Tadino 
(for the letter said the priore there would be sure to remember it 
— he was there at the time) that Vi, who is always good-natured 
about doing anything (though she has her faults) offered to go 


516 


JOSEPH VANCE 


over to Gualdo to see him and hear what she could. She did this, 
and he remembered the affair perfectly. To confirm his words he 
showed Vi the register of marriages in the Church, and there was 
no possible doubt about it — Giuseppe Vance and Annunciatina 
Vespucci — November 9, 1873. And he also showed her a letter 
he had from Joe Vance about some matter relating to the wedding. 

‘‘You may fancy, dear Sarry, how ill and nervous I was when 
they came back, when I tell you that I disbelieved Vi when she 
told me this, and said so. I had got all together over-excited 
and feverish. Vi only said, ‘Well — ^you can ask Dick — he was 
there too.’ And she called him up to my room. ‘ Y ou saw the 
books with the entries, Dick ? ’ said she. ‘ Oh, yes,’ said he, ‘ I 
saw the hooiks fast enough.’ And then Vi hustled him out of 
the room because he smelt of smoke. And I had the fidgets for 
hours because he didn’t absolutely say, he had read the entries or 
seen the letter. But I saw when I came to myself, that there was 
no loophole to get out at. For there could be no other Joseph 
Vance ” ♦ 

* The remainder of the letter has no interest in connection with Hr. Yance’s 
Barratire. 


NOTE BY THE EDITOR 


The bulky MS. of which the foregoing forms part came into the 

possession of Mr. F of Kensington under the circumstances 

which he describes in the following letter: 

23 Dec., 1900. 

‘^Dear Sirs: The MS. (which I forward to-day) is no doubt 
much too bulky to publish as it stands, but of course you have 
carte-hlanche to use it as you like. So long as I can recoup my- 
self for the expense and trouble I have had I shall be satisfied. 

“It is in my possession owing to a mere accident, and I think 
I have hunted about for the owner quite enough to justify my 
selling it to pay expenses. It was through my happening to notice 
a fragment of a letter to one J. Vance Esq., that had been used 
to wrap up a piece of dry bread I had bought for drawing, on 
my way to my Studio. It struck me as well as my wife, to whom 
I showed it, that it was one the receiver would probably have de- 
stroyed or kept — certainly not one he would have wished to lie 
about. I showed it to the woman at the Baker’s shop, and she 
agreed that this was so. She remembered that a former servant 
had spoken of Mr. Joseph Vance, whom she waited on in his 
chambers at her last place. It was near Russell Square; she had 
forgotten the address. I asked her to enquire and let me know; — 
she said she could probably find the girl again. I called a few 
days after, and she had found it out. 

“ It was at . . . ., but should you print this letter I will ask 
you to omit it, as annoyance might be caused. 

“ I called at the address with my wife, expecting to find Mr. 
Joseph Vance, but he had left two years ago. The landlady of the 
house (which is let in chambers) was very disobliging and ill- 
tempered, almost refusing to answer questions. But we got from 
her this much, that Mr. Vance had lived in the house between 
two and three years; that he wrote a good deal; might have been 
any age; took the rooms with attendance, and the young person, 
whom she called a ‘young slut,’ could tell us a great deal more 
about him than she herself could, as she waited on him every day. 
However, she became a little more communicative when she remem- 


518 


NOTE BY THE EDITOK 


V 


bered a grievance she had against Mr. Vance. She had asked him 
not to burn papers in the clean black-leaded grates, and he had 
begged leave to do so in the kitchen. A big parcel he put on the 
fire had flared up and set the kitchen chimney on fire, and she had 
to pay a fine, as it had not been swept. She was very angry with 
Mr. Vance about this; admitting, however, that Mr. Vance’s sister 
had spoken civil about it when she came, and that all her ex- 
penses had been paid. We asked whether no address had been 
left and she said there was a foreign address, but she had lost it. 
When they went away Mr. Vance’s sister said something about 
Italy. Our informant refused to take charge of any letters for 
Mr. Vance — in fact, was very unaccommodating. 

“We tried to find the ‘young slut,’ but were unfortunate also 
in this. In the short interim between our enquiries she had left 
the place she was in and apparently disappeared altogether. It 
was supposed she had got employment at a theatre. 

“ About six months after this I was in want of a model with a 
good pair of arms, and one was sent to me by my friend . . . 
Her arms were very fine, and I had a great many sittings. She of 
course talked incessantly in the silly way models have, and I only 
threw in a word or two now and then. I occasionally listened, 
when the stories she told grew extra silly, in order to amuse my 
wife with them. One such story wao to the effect that she had been 
a sort of lady-help once in a house where there was an author. 
This gentleman had made a big parcel of a lot of ‘ littery rubbish ’ 
and she had taken this rubbish out of the parcel, substituting the 
same bulk of paper. I asked her motive for doing this, and she 
gave me the very unsatisfactory reason that she did it to see what 
an old Cure the writer would look when he found the Daily Tele- 
graft folded close instead of his precious rubbish. Of course she 
meant to give it back. ‘It was,’ she said, ‘all along of the old 
Cure himself she didn’t.’ It seemed that he, shortly before leav- 
ing the house ‘ where he had been staying,’ had put the parcel con- 
taining (as he supposed) his writings on the kitchen fire ‘ not to 
mess the clean grates in the sitting-rooms.’ Then she couldn’t 
‘ find the cheek ’ to tell him of the trick she had intended, before he 
went away with his sister. 

“It was odd that I did not at once recognize the story. I was 
perhaps thrown off my guard by the image of the ‘ lady-help ’ and 
the gentleman who ‘ stayed in the house ’ — a different entourage. 
When I repeated the tale to my wife she at once said : ‘ Why, what 
a goose you are ! Of course your model is the “ young slut.” ’ Of 
course she was, and I should never have found it out! 


NOTE BY THE EDITOR 


519 


" I thought it much better that the papers, whatever they were, 
should be in my keeping than the young woman’s. So I offered to 
purchase the MS. of her, and after seeing it thought I might 
speculate to the extent of two pounds, which she accepted. As 

Messrs have kindly offered to cover this expense and 

others incurred in advertising, and have undertaken all respciisi- 
bilities in case it turns out a genuine narrative, containing names 
of living people, I have no hesitation in leaving it in their hands. 
I think I may, however, fairly ask for a presentation copy in case 
of publication. I am, dear Sir, 

Yours, etc. 

enclose the address of Miss Constantine the model, should 
you desire further information from her.” 

Having undertaken to prepare this MS. for the Press, after 
necessary curtailment, I decided to find out ^^Miss Constantine,” 
whom I recognized as the Betsy Austin ” of the narrative, and 
to get her to tell me more of Mr. Vance, as there was no doubt 
she could do. In this I was not mistaken. She became very com- 
municative, and the following is, in a condensed form, what she 
told me in one or two interviews. 

She had attended on or “ done for” Mr. Vance during the whole 
of his stay on “ Skinnerses first floor.” He was a quiet sort 
of oldish gentleman, who conducted himself which a many didn’t. 
He was particular, but so might you have been,” about his bath- 
water and empty in’ regular. Used to go for walks after dark. 
Always gave money to organs if Italian and Piedmonteses with 
guinea-pigs that died when instructed to it. Very fond of chess 
and used to have a German round to play and often three in the 
morning in consequence. She had taken notes to the German 
often and often, and was sure of his name and address, which 
she gave. She quite admitted she did wrong in abstracting the 
MS., but it was only a practical joke in the way of describing it, 
and not intended to convey malice. What was his sister like? 
Like him? No, not a bit — a handsome old lady — not so very old, 
neither. A lock of gray hair — grayish hair — ^loose on her forehead. 
Came in a hansom the first time— next in a carriage. She showed 
her up the first time — she drove up to the next house and knocked 
and rang, and I was out in front and heard her ask for Mr. Vance. 
So says I he lives here— first floor. Should I take her card up?” 

Oh no,” says she, Mr. Vance’s sister,” and she just passed me by 
introdiicively, and says, Show me his door.” I told her him and 
M r. Pfleiderer was a-playing chess; and she says Never mind,” 


520 


NOTE BY THE EDITOR 


and goes straight in. What did she say exactly? I’ll tell you. 
She said never a word, but stood giving little gasps like as if the 
words wouldn’t come. Herr Pfleiderer he didn’t hear her — ^he’d 
his back to her, and he sat looking at the Prawns and Rooks — 
rubbishin’ nonsense — for grown men to sit playin’ at. What did 
Mr. Yance say? I’ll tell you. He started up and called out some- 
thing I failed to notice, and Herr Pfleiderer he looks up and says, 
“ No — you have a goot game — but I shall give you a check at 
Queen Square.” Then Mr. Vance came running round to the lady, 
just in time to catch her. Oh yes, she’d very nearly fell ! and she’d 
seemed that strong too, coming up the stairs. And the Herr he 
says “Harsharsh — vat is dat?” Then Mr. Yance says quite self- 
contained like, We’ll finish our game another time, Pfleiderer. It’s 
my sister.” And the Herr he says, “I will take my leaf.” 

There was a little hesitation in Miss Constantine’s manner at 
this point of the story, due to her reluctance to admit that after 
seeing Mr. Pfleiderer out she had returned and listened at the key- 
hole. When once she had yielded the point she became communi- 
cative again, and even infused a certain amount of dramatic force 
into her narrative of what she heard, as she warmed to her 
subject. 

She was a-crying ! ” said she. Oh, cryin’ she was ! And it 
was ‘Oh, my dear Joe — my poor Joe — Oh, to think of it! All 
these years — these years.’ And there was Mr. Yance— crying? — 
Oh no, he wasn’t crying — ^you could hear he wasn’t — only when 
he spoke it was just as good! Only not giving away. He wasn’t 
that sort. He held to, and kep’ it in. But cried she did! no 
mistake.” 

“ What did Mr. Yance say ? ” 

“ ‘ It was for you, dear love, it was for you.' That’s what he 
kept on saying. ‘ How could I bear for you to know about poor 
little Becky.’ I think it was Becky he said. Then she cried more. 
Then they went down quieter, and he says, ‘ How came you to find 
out ? ’ And she says, ‘ In Hugh’s old satchel — we opened the lin- 
ing.’ And Mr. Yance he says, ‘My God!’ and then old Skinner 
comes screeching up the stairs for me, and I had to go, and that 
was all I heard. I showed the lady out later, and the hansom had 
stood there all the while, and it must have mounted up. The lady 
she looked quieter, and said drive to Mivart’s. Oh yes, Mr. Yance 
he came down too and said he ought to go with her, and she said 
nonsense ! 

“Next day Mr. Yance he gave notice, — ^he had it by the three 
months — any quarter day; and Skinner had correspondin’ bad tern- 


NOTE BY THE EDITOE 


S21 


per. And it was then she caught him up short for going to throw 
a burning letter in the clean grate. So Mr. Vance he says, ‘ Now, 
Mrs. Skinner, suppose you be an amiable party and let me burn 
all my rubbish in your kitchener. It ’ll go twiced as quick.^ And 
she agreed, being smoothed over like. And then Mr. Vance he gets 
out the bundle with the old paper on it, and wrote on ‘An Ill- 
written Autobiography ’ — ^but with nothing in it but so much Daily 
Telegraft — and brings it down and shoves it under the lid of the 
kitchener, tliere being no roasting and it wouldn^t burn, not till 
the string broke, — then Skinner she stirred the poker in through 
the front bars, and flittered the leaves about. And it made a big 
blaze and set the sut alight in the flue, and the engines came. 
But it was Skinners^s own fault. What did Mr. Vance say ? ‘ Catch 
hold of the rug, Betsy Austin.’ And him and me held it acrost 
for to stop the drarve. And Skinner she stood and used many 
expressions till the Engines knocked and she went upstairs for 
to deny ’em. But their helmets carried that weight that Skin- 
ner she was demolished like, and gave in.” 

Miss Constantine meant to have her talk out about the fire, 
and had it. I thought it best to allow it, but I need not print 
the whole. I may mention, however, that Mr. Vance recognized 
the head fireman as having been in his service more than twenty 
years before. This exasperated Mrs. Skinner, as it led to Mr. Vance 
taking him up into his room, and talking to him for some time, 
and keeping the engine in attendance, “ and boys climbing up the 
area railings.” Miss C. having exhausted this story, went on to 
the second visit of Mr. Vance’s sister, admitting that when she 
showed her in, she promptly listened at the keyhole, as before. 

“ Skinner was out, and Upstairs was typewriting audible. Leav- 
ing off would have been notice, and I should have heard the street 
door. What did I hear them say? Nothing at first. They just 
went on, talking, talking — in very low voices. Oh no ! they never 
thought any one was listening. It was the subject-matter of 
their conversation — they dropped their voices down to it — as a 
serious tone. Then they got on to a winding-up quickness, like 
concluding off, when the piece is ending, and their voices rose 
proportionate. 

“‘You must, dear old boy,’ says she, ‘you really must. It’s 
the only way you can give me any chance of making it up to 
you.’ And then she breaks out, betrayin’ emotion. ‘ Oh, my dear, 

my dear, when I think of you alone all these years ’ And 

I gathered, from notice taken, that she was cryin’ over him sub- 
stantial. What did he say? 'I had the boy, darling Lossie, I 


C22 


NOTE BY THE EDITOR 


had the boy.’ ' Yes, dear fellow,’ says she, ‘ and Belt’s boy after 
all!’ I think it was Belt, not Becky. ^ Ah,’ says he, ‘but you 
should see my boy. He shall go to Oxford now. Not but Hert- 
ford’s very good for him — but I should like Bailey,’ and then they 
talked again, undertone, but I could hear it was about Janey. 

Nothing but Janey, Janey, Janey Then Mr. Vance give out 

suddenly, crying like any little girl. ‘ Oh no. Loss dear,’ says he, 
‘ do talk about her — it does me good.’ And then I had to go down 
and open the door, and it was a mistake. Only they wanted 
to know — the mistake — where was the Ophthalmic Insurance 
Society. And it took me ever so long to direct — and when I got 
back upstairs I could hear the conversation concluding oif. Oh 
yes, I heard some more! She said, ‘You’ll see one of my letters 
will turn up in time.’ — ‘ How did you direct exactly ? ’ says he. 
‘ Simply “ Joseph Vance, Esq.,” at the old address,’ says she. ‘ And 
then as soon as I was well enough I started to come.’ — ‘ We might 
find them in the Dead Letter Office,’ says Mr. V ance, ‘ but they 
wouldn’t do us any good.’ And then they came out, and she says, 
‘ Now you must come over to Molly. So mind you’re ready at nine 
to-morrow when I come.’ And next day sure enough she came 
in a carriage, and she and Mr. Vance and one or two trunks went 
away to Victoria, and that was the last of them I see. Pleased 
as Punch they looked.” 

This appeared to be all the information I could get from Miss 
Constantine. I determined next to apply to Herr Dr. Ludwig Pflei- 
derer at the address she had given me. I can give the substance 
of his information without repeating his exact words. He met 
Mr. Vance a year ago at Simpson’s chess-roorhs, and had played 
a good many games with him in his own house, but more at Mr. 
Vance’s rooms. Mr. V. was very retired, always asking to come 
alone if possible, as he really disliked Society in every form. Mr. 
V. had given a general account of himself corresponding with that 
in the narrative, but had mentioned no names of friends. Dr. 
Pfleiderer had noticed this as peculiar; but he went to Mr. V.’s 
rooms to play chess, not to pry into his private affairs. Mr. V. 
was always going to Brazil next month, but was always detained 
by some new document turning up at the British Museum, which 
he felt bound to examine carefully. He was always very anxious 
to get letters from an adopted son of his who was at Harvard. 
Asked why the boy should not go to Oxford or Cambridge, as then 
he would have him near him, and he could remain longer in Eng- 
land, Mr. V. said the boy had relations in England he did not wish 


JXUTK UY TfiJL JLUirOK 


523 ^ 


him to make acquaintance with. Was it a family quarrel? No, 
there was no quarrel — but they were on an unusual footing. So Dr. 
Pfleiderer asked no more questions. 

I asked about the lady who came when the game of chess was 
going on. I will give Dr. P.’s verbal description of this. 

“ Aha ! ” said he, that was a very funny incident ! I was con- 
sidering my move, and did not hear the door open. Suddenly 
Mr. Vance started up and shouted out ‘Lost!’ — at least that was 
what I thought he said at the time. I looked up and said his 
game was not lost at all — far from it — and then I saw his eyes 
fixed on some one behind me, and I turned round and saw a very 
handsome lady; oldish woman, with slightly gray hair loose on the 
forehead, and a very soft sort of look about the eyes — long eye- 
lashes — ^must have been a beauty thirty years ago. She was as 
white as this sheet of paper, and looked as if she would fall for- 
ward. Mr. Vance went round the table quickly, and just caught 
her in time. He got her to the sofa, and then told me it was his 
sister, whom he had not seen for many years, and we would finish 
our game another time. So, as I was in the way I said good-night. 

“ He called on me next day, and was very full of apologies for 
the way he had packed me ofi. He said it was perfectly impos- 
sible to give an explanation of the circumstances under which his 
sister had been separated from him for a very long term of years, 
or of those which had brought her back quite unexpectedly. But her 
coming had made a great change in his plans, and now instead 
of gding to Brazil he should accompany this lady back to Florence, 
where she lived. ‘ I feel rather a humbug, Herr Doctor,’ said 
he, ‘ in speaking of her as my sister. We have always thought 
of each other as brother and sister — but only because I was in a 
sense adopted into her family when I was a child of eight — half 
her age.’ ‘I see,’ said I, ‘you have always thought of her as a 
sister — quite always.’ ‘ As a very dear sister,’ said he. ‘ I see,’ 
said I, ‘and you will go to your very dear sister’s house in Flor- 
ence, and live there, and be her very dear brother.’ ‘ Something 
of that sort,’ said he. ‘And I expect my boy will go to Oxford 
after all.’ ‘You will forgive my plain speech, Mr. Vance,’ said 
I. ‘ And play a game of chess into the bargain, Herr Doctor,’ 
said he. And we played for two hours. He opened Euy Lopez, 
and beat me in fifty-four moves. It was a good game.” 

“ Did he not say anything farther during the game ? ” 

“ Well — nothing much during the game. My wife came in and 
gave us tea and talked of what trouble she had in finding an 
address that morning. Mr. Vance said, ‘ Well, Mrs. Pfleiderer, 


524 


NOTE BY THE EDITOR 


I hope you didn’t have so much trouble to find your friend as 
the lady you saw, Herr Doctor, had to find me the other day.’ 
And then he told us how she had come to London on a forlorn 
hope to find him without any clue at all except that he had been 
seen in Sloane Street. ‘ Not a soul of my own connection knew 
anything about me,’ said he. ^ All thought I was still in Brazil. 
Her brother was laid up with gout, and couldn’t help. But by 
a lucky chance he remembered forwarding some goods from his 
Office in Lincoln’s Inn Fields to a Pantechnicon, for me, years 
and years ago — and they managed to fish out the receipt given 
when the goods were sent for, and at the Pantechnicon she got 
my address and came straight on.’ ” 

This was all the information to be had from Herr Pfleiderer. 

There remained a chance of information as to Mr. Vance’s where- 
abouts if one of Lady Desprez’s letters could be recovered. I 
applied at the Central Office, and the officials were most courteous 
and obliging, making every possible search and enquiry, but with- 
out result. 

It might appear the most obvious course to make enquiry for this 
lady’s Villa in Florence. But there is no doubt many of the 
names in the narrative are changed, and Desprez undoubtedly is, 
as there was no General of that name killed at Candahar in ’79. 
This is not the only name whose owner could certainly be identified 
if it were genuine; for instance, the name of Thorpe. The name 
Vance itself is rather puzzling, as even if it were not Mr. Joseph 
Vance’s real name, it is difficult to see how Lady Desprez could 
direct to him under that name — a name assumed, be it noted, to 
ensure concealment of the bearer. But no large building firm 
under the name of Christopher Vance & Co. can be found in any 
directory. The story of the signboard makes this circumstance 
the more singular. The real names might certainly have been (for 
instance) Hobson and Jobson instead of Dance and Vance. But 
if the names are altered throughout it is not easy to see why 
Mr. Vance was so anxious to destroy the MS. 

In any case the Publishers and myself may claim that we have 
taken every possible precaution. We have advertised not only in 
the English press, but in that of other countries (Italy espe- 
cially), without receiving any answer. I have personally gone 
through a whole library of Directories of all sorts in the hope of 
finding some clue to some one person mentioned, but without suc- 
cess. The narrative is published now in the belief, on our part, 
that if it is, after all, a genuine one, the alteration of names i« 
such that identification is impossible, and will remain so. 


POSTSCEIPT BY THE PUBLISHERS 


Just aa the first edition of this work is completed in the preae 
and ready for the binder, a most embarrassing letter has come 
into the Editor^s possession which establishes the identity of 
the Lady Desprez ” of the story. We have decided, after taking 
legal advice, on printing this letter without the signature. It is 
essential to the completeness of the narrative and can in no case 
make matters worse than they are already. We have, however, 
communicated with the writer and undertaken to suppress the work 
if she for her part will undertake to cover expenses up to date. 
If no answer is received the book will issue as announced. 

The letter, which the Post-Office Authorities have handed to 
the Editor, Mr. Howden, seems to have gone to Chelsea, Boston, 
U. S., nearly two years since, and remained there until recently. 
That it has reached us is due to the shrewdness of Mr. Notley. 
of St. Martin’s-le-Grand, who was present when Mr. Howden 
made his enquiry. It struck him that the same thing might have 
occurred that he had known in another case — that the address 
Chelsea, S. W., might have been taken for Chelsea, S. U. (Stati 
Uniti), and the word London omitted. This was exactly what 
had happened, and the letter was found on application to the office 
at Boston. 

The direction, evidently written in agitation, omits the word 
London, and the word Inghilterra written last is a mere blot. The 
whole has the appearance of having been blotted on ordinary 
paper, the last words sufiering most. To add to this the stamps 
have been placed* (probably by an Italian servant) exactly on 
what was the word Inghilterra, — perhaps with the view of rem- 
edying the slovenly appearance. 

We reprint the whole letter, only omitting the signature. For 
other names that are mentioned we have substituted those in the 
MS. that correspond. 

Villa . . . ., Florence. 

"My dear, dear old Joe, is it too late? I mean is it still pos- 
sible I may do something — some little thing — ^to make amends for 
♦ Two stamps of ten centimes and one of fire. 

525 


526 


POSTSCEIPT BY THE PUBLISHERS 


all the cruel wrong I have been doing to you in these past years? 
Oh, my dear, if this should reach you, write, telegraph at once to i 
tell me where you are. I would give all I have, would give all my 
days that are left, only to see you for one hour and speak with you i 
and have the air clear between us as it used to be, and for you to i 
know how miserably I could allow myself to be deceived. For, my ; 
dear, my dear, I know it all now — it has all come to me in this last 
twelve hours, and Hugh is not here to keep me calm and tell me 
what to do. I must act for myself as best I may. God grant me 
only to see your dear face once again — the face I had the cowardice 
and stupidity to think deceived me. I ought to have known it was 
impossible, and I was a fool and knew nothing. 

‘^Writing like this is no use! I had better stop it and try to 
tell you everything that has happened, as nearly as I can. But I 
am ill, and my head swims. If it were not so I should start at 
once for London, for I know you are in London somewhere. But I i 
can only write to your old house and hope some chance may take 
the letter on. 

“For fifteen — no! sixteen years — God forgive me for my folly — • i 
I have believed one whom I now know to be as true a man as ever i 
lived to have been false in word and deed — how I could have 
thought it, it bewilders me now to think! But I was deceived, 
my dear, so cruelly deceived. And now I have to purchase the i 
chance of making some amends for my wrong to you at the cost of i 
knowing that another brother, whose memory I was cherishing as 
a treasure, was one for whom I can find no name I can bear to call 
him by — but I must try again to begin and tell you what has hap- 
pened — I mean, what has happened in this last day here. As for 
my excuses for the past, I cannot write them now. Oh, how I ! 
hope we shall meet that I may tell you ! 

“You must remember my little Cicely (the Turk, you called 
her). She and a young soldier, quite a boy, whom she met in the j 
summer in London, are in love, and want me to allow them to be 
engaged. He has come here on a visit, and Cicely told him that I | 
still keep Hughes old regimentals that he had at the time of his : 
death. He came to me yesterday asking as a great privilege that i 
he might be allowed a sight of them — there is not a young man in I 
the army, said he, but would think it a privilege to see and touch | 
the garment Hugh .... died in. So I got it out for him, and I 
I thank God I did so. For as I was telling him of the little j 
satchel that you will I’m sure recollect — ^he stood turning it over 
in his hands, and put his finger through the hole the bullet made. 

I had never examined it so closely — it was too much pain — and had 


I 


POSTSCRIPT BY THE PUBLISHERS 


527 


I wrapped it up and put it away sixteen years ago. Young Lieu- 
i tenant .... said there was a piece of paper inside the lining 
I and it felt like an envelope. I thought it impossible, but told 
him to pull it out. I saw at once that it was a letter to the mother 
of your boy Cristoforo — but not in your handwriting! 

“I opened it and saw the signature, Giuseppe Vance. But the 
moment I saw ‘ Giuseppe ’ I saw it was Beppino’s. And the whole 
thing burst suddenly on me, and I was wise too late. I fell down 
insensible, and am now only slowly recovering from the shock. 

“ Oh, my dear, I see it all plainly now — at least, I see you took 
Beppino^s guilt upon yourself, and made his boy your own. I 
remember I wrote out to Sarita that I believed it must have been 
some Quixotism of yours. So it was, dear Joe, but it was the 
Quixotism of the Angels. 

How the letter came to be in Hugh’s old wallet quite passes my 
comprehension. I could only recollect that one day at Poplar 
Villa that lining was torn, and Hugh had it sewn up. The letter 
must have been slipped inside the lining and sewn in. It was 
before we bought Villa . . . . — that’s all I can recollect. 

“ As to Beppino — I dare not thinly — in fact, I cannot. I can see 
nothing now except that he writes to an Italian wife whose name is 
not Sibyl, and signs himself with an assumed surname. As to any 
possible mistake about who wrote that ^ Giuseppe,’ I have plenty of 
letters from him signed so. As to Sibyl, I shall tell her nothing. 
She had better not know. I daresay you remember that she mar- 
ried the Duke of ... . within two years of Beppino’s death. I 
alw’ays say Beppino’s boy is more mine than hers now. She is 
so much in the world. 

I am very confused about it all — ^but quite clear of one thing — 
that Beppino deceived some girl here under your name, and you 
took all the blame on yourself after her death — and I did wrong 
to believe you. I see it more in the look of your face, as I remem- 
ber it then, than by any analysis I can make of the story now. 
I see it all, my dear, I see it all! And I know you have never 
blamed me. 

“ I know you are in London because some German ladies were 
here last week, and when I was showing them my photos, one of 
them pitched upon your portrait and said she had seen you in 
Sloane Street just before starting to come away, but that you 
looked much older than when she knew you. She was a Madame 
Schmidt, who has been a great pianist I believe. If only her 
little bit of information leads to your receiving this, how glad I 
shall be! 


528 


POSTSCRIPT BY THE PUBLISHERS 


I ‘‘Dear, dear other little brother, if this letter reaches you and 
we never meet, as may be, try and think of our past as though it 
had ended in those last days at ... . Never think of all these 
dreary years of darkness and misunderstanding. If only we might 
all have died then — while the world was still sweet to us and life 
seemed good ! As it now is, the best to hope for is that I may get 
my strength again and come to find you. But I know that if you 
receive this yoij will come at once to me. 

“ They tell me I must write no more, and I want this to go 
to-day. I shall be happier when it is posted. It is a chance — a 
hope to live on. My hand shakes, but I can still write that I 
am your loving sister. 


“ As soon as I am better I shall start for London to find you. 
Let Nolly’s people in Lincoln’s Inn Fields know where you are — • 
and he will go to you at once. He has often asked what has be- 
come of you, and I have told him this and that. He believes yom 
still at Rio Grande, or somewhere in S. America.” 




ZANE GREY’S NOVELS 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list 


THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STAR S 

A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes^ the center of frontier war- 
fare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is captured by bandits. A 
surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close. 

THE RAINBOW TRAIL 

The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great western 
uplands- until at last love and faith awake. 

DESERT GOLD 

The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with the finding 
of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl who is the story’s heroine. 


RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE 

A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon authority 
ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of the story. 

THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN 

This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, known as the 
preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert and of a hunt in “that 
wonderful country of deep canons and giant pines.” 

THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT 

A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New 
Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands tl»at the girl shall become 
the second wife of one of the Mormons— Well, that’s tho problem of this great story. 

THE SHORT STOP 

The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and fortune as 
a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start are followed by such success 
as dean sportsmanship, courage and honesty ought to win. 

BETTY ZANE 

This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful young sister o£ 
old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. 

THE LONE STAR RANGER 

After killing a man in self defense. Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along tha 
Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds a young girl held 
prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings down upon himselt the wrath of her 
^ptors and henceforth is hunted on one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws. 

THE BORDER LEGION 

' Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Qeve out to a lawless Western mining 
camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she loved him— she followed hiin out. 
On her wav she is captured by a bandit band, and trouble begins when she shoots 
Kells the leader— and nurses him to health again. Here enters another romance— 
when Joan, disguised as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of di^ipation. A gold 
strike, a thrilli ng robbery— gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly. 

THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUf^ 

By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey 

The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, “ Buffalo Bill,” as told by his sister and 
Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his first encounter with an In- 
dian We '>ee “Bill” as a pony express rider, then near Fort Sumter as Chief 9! 
the Scouts,''and later engaged in the most dangerous I ndian ^mpaigns. There is 
also a very interesting: account of the travels of T.he Wild West Show. No char-* 
acter In public life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than 
“ Buffalo Bill,” whose daring and bravery made him famous. 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


KATHLEEN NORRIS’ STORIES 


May be had wherever books are sold. A sk for Grosset & Dunlap’s list 

SISTERS. Frontispiece by Frank Street. 

The California Redwoods furnish the background for this 
beautiful story of sisterly-devotion and sacrifice. 

POOR, DEAR. MARGARET KIRBY. 

Frontispiece by George Gibbs. ‘ 

A collection of delightful stories, including “Bridging the 
Years” and “ The Tide-Marsh.” This story is now showii, in 
moving pictures. 

]OSSELYN*S WIFE . F rontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. 

The story of a beautiful woman who fought a bitter fight for 
happiness and love. 

MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED. 

Illustrated by Charles E. Chambers. 

I The triumph of a dauntless spirit over adverse conditions. 

THE HEART OF RACHAEL. 

Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. 

An interesting story of divorce and the problems that come 
with a second marriage. 

THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. 

Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. 

I^'A sympathetic portrayal of the quest of a normal girl, obscure 
and lonely, for the happiness of life. 

SATURDAY’S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. 

Can a girl, born in rather sordid conditions, lift herself through 
sheer determination to the better things for which her soul . 
hungered ? 

MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. 

A story of the big mother heart that beats in the background , 
of every girl’s life, and some dreams which came true. 


j4sli for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York. 



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